Outrageous, but the Netillian knew to stretch out every second. The Twaryian ambassador had to tempt him- his partner had made the mistake of reasoning, using rationale rather than his opponent’s greed as his arm. “So you would propose to take them prisoner?” he led off.

“Extended detainment, to be returned when the current situation calms.”

“What if instead,” the Twaryian Ambassador said with a hum, a drag of his finger across the wooden, polished table, “We considered an exchange? Their lives for some of your lives?”

“Oh? A prisoner exchange?”

“Ambassador,” the Twaryian’s second hissed to him in their native language, “We have no influence over-“

”Silence.” The Ambassador said back, clearly, before returning his attention to his western counterpart. “Of sorts. Yours would only take ours into custody long enough to take them to another section of the border and return them home. This is an offer made in good faith, so the indignity of being taken back to a camp and paraded about as though defeated would be intolerable.” He felt his other squirming. His junior was inexperienced in diplomacy, where it was and what exactly was acceptable to fold. A sacrifice in one place that an opponent overestimated the value of, could mean a greater share in a place where there was a more significant advantage to be gained. Even if it wasn’t something he had the power to surrender.

“So if they were to be kept, you would merely refuse to release the prisoners of ours you have taken?” The Netillian ambassador smelled something suspicious- but he hadn’t figured out the Twaryian’s gambit yet.

“If they were to be kept,” the eastern Ambassador smiled, “The generous exchange would have to be made yet more generous. It’d hardly be fair to repay you with only the prisoners had at the moment, wouldn’t it?”

That made the Netillian ambassador’s smile slip. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean, that the longer we take to conclude this deal,” the Twaryian ambassador sat at the table and put his fingers together, hands resting on the table, “The more drastically some commanders may be tempted to act. We are not in the Border Zone, sir. Surely the garrison, as well as you, know your status plenty well. Returning your freedoms would be a fair exchange, no?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” the Netillian ambassador remained standing, his face now stern, the tables turned upon him. “Such an incident would dwarf what is currently happening.”

“Then you would do well to avert it.” The Twaryian smirked up, “Now, shall we get something down in writing..?”

-----

Leader (a team designation, not his title, obviously) had known the Major for years, and knew she wasn’t a morning person. Regardless, after he’d recovered from his wound some, he was here in the morning she disliked (albeit inside a dingy hotel room), balanced out with tea he knew she was fond of, her office desk playing substitute for a table. She was only half dressed in a long sleeved button down and underclothes, which was an expected habit. When he first met the Major he thought she did this to put people off balance, but as he became more familiar (familiar enough to know she wasn’t doing it for anyone’s benefit) he learned that just as often she did it because she couldn’t be bothered otherwise.

It wasn’t distracting anymore, but hell if it wasn’t once. The Major was a very tall woman, and with height came long, long legs. The same height made her an odd choice for an Intelligence Office agent, Leader had also thought at times. Even among average people she stuck out, but for a woman she was a giant. Hardly a reach to conclude on why she didn’t make a habit of walking around for pleasure here, rather than minding her threads while lounging about in what she slept in; a far different look to how she presented herself anywhere but in the heart of her web.

“Netilland has been under the domination of its military state for a few years,” Leader was continuing a conversation whilst the Major closed her eyes and slowly drank her tea, despite that it was steaming hot, “We’ve not had much reason to penetrate too deeply until now, but I hear that the boss expected more treacherous ground at this later stage.”

“The Defense Party is fierce,” the Major laced that backhanded praise with no shortage of contempt, “But they are young and overconfident, like teenage boys. Against that sort of opponent, once they are identified for what they are,” she placed her teacup down with a soft clink, and kicked up her legs on the table, crossed them, “the outcome was never at all in doubt.”

Leader winced as he stretched a limb and groaned. “You ought to know that young and overconfident sorts have their strengths, Major.”

The Major’s eyebrow twitched. “…No, not in this context. There is a blind spot to be exploited. In a direct contest, brashness can provide a great advantage, but there was no contest here.”

“It’s in the nature of their rule isn’t it? Being a military dictatorship.”

“Not necessarily, monopolization of force is hardly exclusive to a military dictatorship. However, a military dictatorship by nature does not exist without its ability to use force. Opposing it is no small task for those under it, but,” The tall woman slid a folder over to herself and casually flipped it open, pushing a few papers to the side to look at some clipped photos beneath, “Preparing a replacement for a time of opportunity works just as well when the means to remove the factor of power can be found elsewhere.”

“You’ve moved a lot of pieces since last time I saw this,” Leader murmured, impressed once he realized the scope.

“I can’t take all the credit, but I’ll certainly take responsibility for this remaining void of suspicion by anybody who would do anything about it,” the Major allowed a slight smirk on her face, “Even if another portion of our operations collapses, this will easily remain in the dark. At this point, all there is to do is wait…and hopefully, to not do damage control.”

“And the science experiment?”

“Can take care of itself, if it’s worth anything. If help does end up being necessary, I won’t need trouble myself with a trip over there to find out.”

-----

Morning had come again, and the sleep you’d gotten had been in short bursts throughout the dark. There hadn’t been fighting, nor reports of any attempts to break over the border, though a few encounters had been reported by the troops of your company amassed in their section of the line. Nothing violent- only sightings. The tanks had been turned off to save fuel, and in the quietness of the night, aside from conversation, there was naught to muffle the sounds of distant battle to the south and southeast.

It wasn’t so bad to be far away from it, frankly, in your condition.

You are Richter Von Tracht, Coordinator, Lieutenant, half-faced and eight fingered, and your star was barely in ascent, if it was indeed such. Commander of Panzers, and presently, you and the panzers you commanded were being held in reserve, ready to respond to a crisis in the line along the border, currently sealed off and watched over for any who would dare try and cross without surrendering. On the other side, a different crisis that spurred the one on your side, but a far more severe event in every way. Whilst you and your men merely waited, the Twaryians on the other side dealt with a great revolt, dueling insurgents and doing their best to respond while a significant group had been surrounded, cut off, and pushed against the border.

Just the other day you had contributed in your own way to that revolt’s beginning phases, with a brief raid across the border in your tanks. How much of this massive success the Ellowian insurgents, the Eastern Resistance Army, was having that could be attributed to your involvement was uncertain. However, the mess that had occurred made you thankful you hadn’t done more. Already, tensions were as high as they’d ever been between Twaryi and Netilland. If you’d done much more in your raid, you feared that your Intelligence Office superiors would have had your head for it.

…Though it also had to be said, as you looked across to your gunner across from inside the turret, both of you heavy eyed from both having to be at alert, but unmotivated by any actual action, that you didn’t find yourself rushing into another fight anyways. That night that Hans had approached you played again like an old record in your head, scratchy and dusty, of how he and the other crews saw their fellows perish in this battleground far away and so irrelevant to home. How none of them wanted that. That sentiment was reflected well in Stein’s eyes in the orange interior light, and you might have searched for it in Jorgen’s eyes, had his forest person pride not likely obscured it. As ever, your driver was inscrutable, a face never, ever shown, but even if one of your crew felt like they didn’t mind fighting here, they were plenty outnumbered by the numerous other Strossvalder crew.

In the mercenaries who filled the gaps in your ranks, you saw some twisted mutation of that look. The resignation of people so far from home they were now on endless journey. Or were they glad of such an existence in spite of how sad some might have found it? It was difficult to tell, and despite how much had happened to and around you, still hard to understand.

You and yours were sick of being here, indeed. Yet it wasn’t over, not yet. Plenty of business to take care of before you picked up the pieces of yourselves and limped back. Plenty more to ensure that your efforts here meant something.

The coming day, you’d have to finally handle an obstacle to those efforts. You had been approached earlier by an agent of a new ally, of the King of Ellowie, and told of the necessity of saving the Eastern Resistance Army from being destroyed in the battle across the border. This was simplistic enough to do, theoretically- were there not the obstacle potentially breathing down your neck, watching and waiting, ready to ruin it all if you gave him the chance, or even if you suffered him to live much longer.

Kommissar Alrik Zohl, Captain of State Security, who had remained tolerable far from you while handling other affairs, but evidently he wasn’t as busy anymore, to be keeping an eye on you…or he suspected something. His suspicions would be on point, of course, which was why you had to strike first. Without him, nobody would be looking nearly as closely when you allowed packs of insurgents over the border to be taken into protective custody by the King’s gendarmes. It’d have been simplest if decided to just die out of convenience, but Zohl was not such a gracious person to do that. Rather, no matter how you thought about it, he was a difficult person to draw out and kill, especially if he was suspect of you.

Nevertheless, you had a plan. Something to draw him out, and something to do the deed, while also allowing you to slip out of suspicion yourself. If it all went right. You had had the good fortune to encounter quite sensitive information on a mission to dispatch a combined band of deserting penal troops and mercenaries who had run off with another Kommissar’s information and materiel. That alone should have been tempting enough bait- not only the chance to take credit for reclaiming compromised material, but the chance to embarrass a rival by producing it when the other Kommissar had lost it? What a move that would be! Of course, you had already handed over the actual information to the Intelligence Office, but it wouldn’t be like Zohl would ever find that out.

That would be because you planned to have him ambushed, by a contingent of more local Ellowian insurgents, of a group called the National Liberation Front. They held some spite for Zohl, or at least, the unit he was attached to, and their leader Drachen had offered a plan to attack them outright. From your perspective, however, you saw a better, more precise plan. Even if you requested that Zohl come alone for security’s sake, he absolutely wouldn’t, but so long as he didn’t haul the whole unit over the NLF’s strike force would at least have a local advantage. After all, with a recent quietness from the insurgency near abouts (a side effect of your working with them) and the incident over the border, everybody was mostly along the line, or at the very least, had their attention firmly in that direction.

However…what if they weren’t up to the task, despite the advantages? The 13th Mechanized Guard were one of the premier units of the Netillian army. These were no unruly penal troops nor green recruits, but the best trained, equipped, and experienced troops that the nation could call upon, under the unquestioned authority of an official of the Defense Party, whom now dominated the former Republic. If Zohl survived…you’d have no choice but to flee the country, you were certain, or at least go into hiding within Ellowie.

At least you had no shortage of escape routes and hiding places. It was just a matter if you could reach them with all of your allies in tow, should this all be mucked up. The Major would undoubtedly be furious if you screwed up in doing such a thing, but funnily enough, the status of Strossvald’s advisors played rather little into what you knew the Intelligence Office’s plans to be.

“Eiy,” you heard Jorgen cough from above, peeking through the top of the command cupola, “Kommanderr, letter.” He held out a folded piece of paper, “Sahmguy passedet.”

“Some guy?” you repeated groggily, reaching out and taking it, unfolding the paper with the same motion. It was scrawled in a messy hand, but still readable- and it was just what you’d been waiting for.

Ten o’clock to Noon

By the dingy cottage, you know the one. Try to stack the odds. Sending three dozen of our best with the best they can carry but can’t say if that’ll be enough. Might need some help to seal the deal, else be ready to take a big risk. If this works it’ll be worth it though. We’ll keep out of anybody’s sight until it’s time.

Get rid of this after you commit it to memory, obviously.

There was…some time. Enough time to make the most basic preparations, to call up Zohl and have him come on over to the “meeting place.” For the “hand off.” Damn if it didn’t feel like you were being rushed, however. Wladysaw must have been rushing his new partners in crime for all they were worth. Zohl didn’t seem the type to just rush off to a place of uncertain security, so he’d probably have an advance party there, unless you sent one to the location. You hadn’t done anything to directly earn Zohl’s mistrust, after all, so you could at least count on that to help this work.

So. Everything was at a point you couldn’t influence further concerning your allies, unless you called it off to do it quite a bit later (which was an option, since you were the one who actually had the capability to call Zohl), time to finalize your part in all this. Namely, your direct support. Yes, it was supposed to be the insurgent’s job to actually take out Zohl without laying suspicion upon you, but…you couldn’t exactly show up alone, could you? Maybe you could use a heavier escort of those loyal to you in case push came to shove?

>Showing up alone might be suspect, but there wouldn’t be much time for anybody to be suspicious. Best to do that to minimize any risks.
>Bring along your crew. They could handle themselves in a fight…and you might need to be handled by them too.
>Take a tank along. If things didn’t work out, you could at least take matters into your own hands, as much a risk as that might be.
>Other?

Pastebin for past threads is https://pastebin.com/UagT0hnh
Twitter for announcements and shitposts is @scheissfunker

>>4435240
I feel like showing up alone would be too suspect, but at the same time I don't want to bring too much that would put our people/NLF in more danger from shooting at each other (and there's also the worry that if we bring a tank, it'll be able to effectively ward off the NLF). I think the best middle ground would be just the crew then based on these initial thoughts.
>Bring along your crew. They could handle themselves in a fight…and you might need to be handled by them too.

>>4435240
>Bring along your crew. They could handle themselves in a fight…and you might need to be handled by them too.

>>4435240
>Bring along your crew. They could handle themselves in a fight…and you might need to be handled by them too

>>4435240
Bring Malachi and Jorgen. And half a squad of Netillians with a combat car for transport.

When the shooting starts we run back to the combat car. Assess the situation from there in a speedy getaway option.
Dont want to bring our entire crew, minimize the risk of all of them getting gunned down.

>>4435240
>Bring along your crew. They could handle themselves in a fight…and you might need to be handled by them too.

>>4435300
>>4435317
>>4435391
>>4435647
Bring the crew for this ride.

>>4435628
Only take the incomprehensible northerners and fill the gaps with chaff.

Writing.

Clearly you couldn’t come alone- it wasn’t something you were afraid to do yourself at this point, but it was something Zohl and his escort would certainly find suspicious. Nobody wandered about by themselves in the Border Zone. So you’d be escorted by your crew, easy enough, they were certainly trustworthy, but a short thought occurred to you about just taking them all in the tank…only briefly. The problem there was, that the NLF attacking this meeting were meant to be taking on the role of your enemies. If they attacked you while you had a tank about, unless you were plotting on turning your coat right then and there, it would be more likely that you’d be using that tank against the NLF instead of Zohl and his escort. Frankly, you wanted to come out of this with plausible deniability well intact.

That, and not having that plausible deniability…could you just uproot yourself in the event it got out that you had purposely ambushed Zohl? An official of Netilland’s Defense Party? Could you uproot everybody connected to you? The thought of any of your comrades being captured made you feel ill…Anya couldn’t even move properly still, could you take such a horrible risk? No, you had to be conservative about this, cautious.

Your crew was called to the tank, contained inside where you could speak over the intercom and not even potentially have any eavesdroppers. Not that you didn’t make damn certain that both the radio was off and the switch was firmly on the setting to keep it inside the tank’s wires. Despite the procedure, there wasn’t much deep conversation on the subject. The motives were obvious, your crew were intrinsically aware that you had all been up to your neck in this brand of nonsense practically since you had met, and you were all watching out for each other. You weren’t demanding anything of them that you didn’t think they could demand of you. This wasn’t even supposed to be a fight, but a stage play. All of you were meant to hide, take cover, until the deed was over as quickly as it began and you were left with but smoke and the scent of cordite. Hopefully, as well, a dead mosshead. Not yours, of course, not that you would call Malachi a mosshead.

Was it unreasonable to take the Combat Car instead of the Tank? Its size and armament (and technically very small amount of armor around its engine and doors) were reassuring, but again, did you really expect to fight? It probably wasn’t a good idea to tempt it…eh. The machine guns were on relatively limited arcs and the cannon crew space was very exposed indeed. You could be excused from not immediately jumping on that in an ambush so far behind the lines.

All of that established, even though not everybody was confident, you had the Car sent over, and in the meantime, you got Zohl’s unit’s frequency. Of course, you wouldn’t reasonably dare speak so openly of what you’d claim to find on open radio communications, but, maybe you could hint at it?

When you called up the 13th Mechanized Guards directly, the last thing you expected to hear was Zohl greeting you immediately.

“Hello there,” he said smoothly, as though he were there in person rather than speaking over a radio, “I received word that you were requesting contact with this unit, so I provided my personal frequency. I hope I was not being presumptuous?”

“…No,” you coughed. Unexpected convenience, but considering the presence of listening posts on both sides of the border combing for whatever they could find, you still had to keep some level of obscurity over all of this. “I wanted to meet you, so we could…trade one favor for another.”

“You need my help, Coordinator?” Zohl sounded particularly smug about this, “I would only be so glad to offer to extend my hand in cooperation.”

“…Yes.” Zohl wasn’t going to live to feel that elation over having won you over for much longer. “I need your help, as much as I loathe to ask for it. I don’t expect any charity. That’s why I’ve got something to offer in return before I tell you what I need help with.” A dodge, from actually coming up with a story for what you needed help with. Let Zohl’s imagination fill in that gap.

“You know of that band of Penal troops that joined with the mercenaries that deserted that other Kommissar?”

“I heard that the Coordinator dispatched them in expert fashion, yes.”

“Tch.” You clicked your tongue against that disingenuous flattery, but didn’t transmit it. “Yes.” Treating Zohl with a polite tone now would be against any other interaction you had with him. You had to be consistently displeased with even interacting with him, which wasn’t hard to do. “They had something belonging to the Kommissar that was…interesting. Does the number Twelve have any significance to you?”

A pause. “Please, Coordinator, there is no need to be coy. Did you come across sensitive information?”

“That appears to have been stolen or lost, yes.” Definitely stolen.

“I would indeed be very interested in reclaiming something lost by a dear, unfortunate brethren. Shall I send somebody to pick it up?”

“Er. No. It’s something of a nature I’d rather not hand off to anybody but you. What if it got lost and I was blamed?” Yes, defensive, suspicious. You had to remain what you were by default.

“Hmm, that is a decent point…” Feigning disappointment. This might as well have been a test by Zohl- ready to admonish you for anything else. “I suppose you have a place you wish to meet me, then?”

…Now you were truly getting suspicious. “Are you sure you want me to reveal that on the radio?”

“Unless you plan to make this trade in quite a long time from now?”

“No,” you relaxed unwillingly, “No, I want to meet at…ten to eleven hundred hours. I’ll try to be there at ten thirty, but I might be a little late. I’d rather not be kept waiting, since I plan to have a light escort…I should hope you’d do the same, considering the nature of this…”

“Yes, yes,” Zohl said dismissively- did he not actually care? “Ten thirty, yes? Where?”

“There is a cottage in the woods to the north and east of my old camp, the one that was attacked and destroyed by Gerovic. It used to be occupied- it isn’t now. I thought of meeting outside of there. It’s out of the way, but easy to find if you’re looking for it.”

“Done, then.” You could hear the smirk on Zohl’s face. Was it possible…that he was more interested in your contrition to him than anything you had to offer? Certainly, it was, even if it was in the form of you mandating that you make it an even exchange... “Would you like to speak of anything else? This favor you need, perhaps? A dinner at a later time? Your friend brought quite a charming acquaintance when we met, maybe you could show me your own companion once more?”

>Anything else to bring up or bluff at Zohl with?
>Talking to this man put a feeling of grease building up in your ears. The less you chatted, the better. He was going to die soon anyways.
>Other?

>>4436020
>Talking to this man put a feeling of grease building up in your ears. The less you chatted, the better. He was going to die soon anyways.
He probably suspects something, but hopefully not that we would even consider making an attempt at his life.

>>4436020
>Talking to this man put a feeling of grease building up in your ears. The less you chatted, the better. He was going to die soon anyways.

So ugh, what do we give him if this fails or we get black bagged on the way, its not like we have the documents on hand.

That and we sorta just revealed we know of its existence on radio

>>4436020
>Ask him to make sure that the Kommissar who lost those papers will not find out about this exchange.
Let Zohl do our opsec for us.

>>4436020
Waaay too easy. Too bad we don't have the helichoppers so they can report his movements and how many friends he's bringing.

I'm very worried that instead of meeting us covertly he's going to use this opportunity to surround and arrest us. Then just take our blackmail material plus whatever else he's investigated as justification.
Now I miss the tank.

>Talking to this man put a feeling of grease building up in your ears. The less you chatted, the better. He was going to die soon anyways.
I can't think of anything to say to try and keep him from trapping us now without it sounding suspicious, if he isn't actually planning too arrest us.
>Other?
Apprise Von Metzeler and Krause of the situation discreetly. Maybe that they shouldn't be too far away if this goes ploin shaped.
Just ideas for basic planning, maybe go to Wielzci and get him to commit to the Liberation if he hasn't already. Some Ellowian boys from his command with Anti-tank rifles might help balance the odds. Even if all they do is shoot once to disable any mechanized units and scatter away afterwards.
Figure out where that cottage is on a map and make sure the mortars are manned and alert. The Mortar team probably be surprised if we call something in so behind the lines but better to use them if we mistakenly zero on Zohl in our 'panic' to escape then it'd be a tragedy.

>>4436214
This all sounds good to me

>>4436214
I disagree that he's going to try to arrest us. All of this seems within how he has acted in the past, he's always been jumping at any opportunity to "work with us". No need to panic and potentially tip off Ellowian collaborators in our company out of desperation just yet.

I'm against setting up mortars/AT rifles, they can potentially attack the NLF, and trying to talk to them to explain why they shouldn't is a risk I don't want to take until we're almost ready to leave.

>>4436020
Otherwise:
>Talking to this man put a feeling of grease building up in your ears. The less you chatted, the better. He was going to die soon anyways.

>>4436351
>Those abs on that owl
Amazing

>>4436038
>>4436044
>>4436310
Hang up.

>>4436186
Keep this on the down low

>>4436214
>>4436271
Prepare a direct backup plan

>>4436310
Perhaps scale it back some though.

As a reminder though, in your Combined units, the Ellowians are solely in their platoons, the heavy weapons are crewed by Netillians. For the actual decision, I'll balance out the scale of this with the suggested downsizing, so that you have your allies ready to respond but don't blow everything you've got.

Writing.

>>4436044
>So ugh, what do we give him if this fails or we get black bagged on the way
Richter sort of went over this in his head- the long and short of it is that if this fails it'd probably be safest to go into hiding or flee, considering it would draw direct suspicion or ire of a locally influential member of Netilland's ruling party. Suffice it to say, this is a risky play.

>>4436351
No comment on how birds feed their young.

>>4436351
I like this image a lot more than I should.

The less time you spent talking to this slimeball, the better. When you wanted a man dead, the last thing you wanted was for him to directly waste more of your time, but you only had a singular subject left to address. “I trust that you’ll handle the affairs of your office in full?” That of a Captain of State Security- of making sure the parties responsible for losing the files would be kept in the dark.

“I have my office for good reason, Coordinator. There is nothing to be concerned about.”

“Then that will be all.” You cut off and disconnected yourself from the tank’s electronics. “Get off that frequency,” you told Hans over the intercom. You wouldn’t need it anymore. “Get ready outside the tank,” you told the crew, “I’m going to make the other officers aware of what’s going down.”

“Ponytail, too?” Hans asked.

…He must have been referring to Wielzci. “…Not yet.” That was a careful balance to break, there. Actively conspiring with the Ellowians could very well doom them- they didn’t assume you were their ally, and so kept their natures concealed even if it seemed clear to you they were up for resuming the fight for their nation. The time and place for that wasn’t now, not before the Defense Party’s confidants weren’t poking their noses in what you did. “I’ll be right back.”

Von Metzeler and Krause were gathered up, and you spoke with them a good twenty meters from anybody else. Nobody present at the tanks would have sold you out, you were sure, but one couldn’t be too careful about what was to be known amongst you. A glance to Von Metzeler’s empty sleeve- and another to Krause’s leg. He was whole, but very well could have not been. How much of your luck could be attributed to placing your fiancée in danger, you dimly thought.

A succinct explanation of the situation and what would happen was given to your two subordinates, and you finished it all with a request of them, not a command. “It’ll be happening in the cottage in the woods, where Yva used to be staying,” you pointed northeast, “In case anything goes wrong and you don’t hear back from me within an hour of the shooting starting…I’d appreciate if you could take your tanks and come and get my crew and I.”

“After what we’ve been through, would we not?” Krause snapped accusatorily, “I only question if this is the best method. It’s awfully risky to put your own head on the line here.”

“I’ve decided that it’s necessary,” you said, “I’m asking this because I can only put my own head on the line. My crew will be there, but as an escort, not as…collaborators.”

“You’ve been throwing yourself in the midst of things altogether too much lately,” Krause said heatedly, pointing at your face, “If you hadn’t already pulled the trigger on this I’d be of the mind to lock you in your room until it’s time for us to leave.”

“You have my full permission to do that once this is done.”

“…Von Tracht,” Von Metzeler spoke up, “Your Retinue is at greater risk than any of us should this go poorly. With that in mind…Krause is plenty able to support you on his own…With my current composure, I have decided that it would be best for my tank and crew to return to the UGZ to secure ourselves…for a potential speedy upheaval…”

“I…” you paused, and tried to weigh the options in your head, but Von Metzeler cut you off while you were just beginning to hesitate.

“…Von Tracht. You may be Coordinator, but as far as the Archduchy is concerned…you and I are equally Lieutenants. Considering that you are risking your status as a superior under the authority of Netilland…whatever attempt you are thinking of making to hold authority over me will be backed by naught. Have faith in Krause…and yourself…”

“Fine.” You replied curtly to Von Metzeler, “Fine then. Junior Lieutenant, you know the place?”

“I do,” Krause nodded, “I won’t be right there, but I’ll be close enough to come around, but still be able to deny I was at the ready.”

“Alright.” You heard the sound of the Combat Car approaching, being delivered at your request, “It’s about time. We’ll reconvene when this is over…hopefully in our favor.”

-----

The ride over was silent- the only sound as you and your crew embarked upon the Combat Car again was its loud, clanking engine, Twaryians having no fondness for more subtle mechanisms from the churning sound it made beneath the hood, practically bleeding out under the car and over the sides. Even so…with your crew all in this same vehicle, you got the funny sensation that you could get used to it. Some tank commander you were, getting this sense of satisfaction from riding in a truck like some panzer grenadier dispatch rider. Maybe it was just to distract from you tumbling yourself into potentially hideous danger yet again.

Nostalgia as you passed the old camp. So much time spent there, so many idle hours winnowed away with the winter breeze. Now it was a wrecked ruin, and in time, when Ellowie was whole once more, it would be an inexplicable relic of a dark time. Would you be remembered as the hero here?

Past the camp, the sun climbing as you became expectedly late to the meeting. The point wasn’t to put off meeting with Zohl, of course- it was to give the NLF plenty of time to scope out their opposition. What they’d hopefully not have to deal with for too long once Zohl was gunned down in the opening barrage. He didn’t have any reason to outright suspect you, let alone think you’d take his life- that you’d very much like to if you were enemies, but you had parried his attempt to expose you, in exchange for the NLF being damaged to a degree you hadn’t been informed of. You hoped their sacrifice was worth this opportunity…however fleeting it might turn out to be.

Signy’s pistol was at your side, but you had no confidence in being able to use it unless you tackled Zohl to the ground and put the barrel right in his eye. You had already been reduced to the most inexpert of marksmen, but now your right hand had been crippled in a way that prevented you from using a gun with it at all- you’d have to use your left hand, a hand that was still far from transforming into becoming the good hand it now had to be. Ahh…you felt your face sag as you looked down at your mutilated hand, was there a worse place Bertram could have shot you?

…Well, he could have shot your manhood off. When you thought about it that way, things weren’t nearly as bad. At least you don’t have a bullet where your balls used to be was a dimly motivating thought.

Even from a distance away, you saw the bulk of the armored personnel carrier that the Mechanized Guards used near dwarfing the cottage. So they were there, but was Zohl? Only one way to find out, as your blood chilled with the consideration that he might not be, that whomever he had sent would insist that you hand over what you had.

The Combat Car slowed to a gradual stop a good fifteen meters away from the Cottage, equidistant from the APC, which had Mechanized Guards all about the area around it. Each of them had the distinct infantry protection harness that your 4th platoon now sported- normally only given to assault teams, but evidently provided in bulk to Netilland’s elite. They weren’t resistant to full powered rifles and machine guns, you faintly recalled, not from actual knowledge but from your efforts to re-educate yourself, but they resisted small caliber rounds and shrapnel quite well. Combined with their training and superior equipment, self-loading rifles in all of their hands, they’d prove a challenge for any opponent let alone insurgents. Drachen had said he was providing his best, and you certainly hoped his best were at least a match for Netilland’s best with the advantage of numbers and surprise.

Drachen had considered attacking the full unit outright, on the other hand. Whether that was overconfidence in his own troops, underestimation of the enemy, or indicative of some secret weapon to balance the odds, you’d have to see.

As you looked around at the troops, the cottage, the APC…you didn’t see Zohl, though.

“Hup!” one of the Netillians called out, “You must be the Coordinator!”

“…Yes,” you said back, getting out of the Combat Car, “Where is the Kommissar?”

“Do you have the thing you wanted for him?” the soldier asked, not answered your question, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood at end.

The immediate response, rehearsed in your head all the way here. “I’m giving it to him and only him. Where is he?”

“He might be late,” the soldier said, “Why don’t you just hand it off? The 13th Mechanized Guard, us, we’re the cream of the crop, in case you haven’t heard. We can be trusted with this sort of thing, you know?”

>Take offense. Say that this is a matter between you and Zohl, not between any common soldier. Demand that Zohl come here this instant, or you’ll leave and take this as an insult.
>Express doubt. The Kommissar wasn’t here- what if he didn’t approve of this bunch? Should you fear for your safety?
>Claim you don’t have it with you. The truth? Yes, but the point as far as these men were concerned was that you weren’t dull witted enough to just bring it along right off. You’d call for it once Zohl came here.
>Other?

>>4437506
>Other?
GET BACK IN THE CAR.
>Claim you don’t have it with you. The truth? Yes, but the point as far as these men were concerned was that you weren’t dull witted enough to just bring it along right off. You’d call for it once Zohl came here.

Say that what we have is for Zohl only and that they have a problem with that to bring it up to the Komissariat.

We didn't prep any other assets at all did we? Well here goes, glad we at least have the car.

>>4437506
>Take offense. Say that this is a matter between you and Zohl, not between any common soldier. Demand that Zohl come here this instant, or you’ll leave and take this as an insult.

We already arranged with Zohl over the radio for him to pick it up in person, for all we know he is just screwing around in the APC. Stick with the plan.

>>4437531
No, do not get back in the car. Taking off running the second we don't see Zohl screams guilt.

>>4437506
>Take offense. Say that this is a matter between you and Zohl, not between any common soldier. Demand that Zohl come here this instant, or you’ll leave and take this as an insult.

>>4437536
Not run, just not exposed. Especially if what we have is so sensitive that the Komissar has to collect it personally.
And it's freezing out, better to wait in the heated car.

>>4437543
Eh, it's a bit weird to go back to the car when we're expecting an immediate handoff. The car doesn't exactly offer much protection anyways. In fact, it might be better for us to be out here so the NLF has a better shot at non-lethally hitting us.

Also, isn't the combat car open topped?

I really feel saying we don't have it with us is a big tip off that something's going down. There's little reason not to keep it on our person or close to it when going to a meeting expecting to hand it off.

>>4437506
tanq, do we have a signal to start the ambush or will the NLF do it on their own initiative once they have a bead on Zohl and us?

Asking because we MAY (maybe we can walk away without too much suspicion?) just want to initiate if Zohl isn't coming out.

>>4437549
>Also, isn't the combat car open topped?
This is the case, yes. The Twaryians dress thickly and don't care much for heating.

>>4437550
>tanq, do we have a signal to start the ambush or will the NLF do it on their own initiative once they have a bead on Zohl and us?
You weren't given a signal or instructions to give one- presumably it's their own initiative.

>>4437506
>Take offense. Say that this is a matter between you and Zohl, not between any common soldier. Demand that Zohl come here this instant, or you’ll leave and take this as an insult.
The commissar has been so polite in his letters, we had assumed we would be meeting him man to man to discuss our dealings as is common when one meets with nobility. Zohl probably knows this is bullshit but it can probably hold up well enough to the common soldier to allow us to obstinately demand a personal meeting.

>>4437506
>>Take offense. Say that this is a matter between you and Zohl, not between any common soldier. Demand that Zohl come here this instant, or you’ll leave and take this as an insult.

>>4437536
>>4437540
>>4437700
>>4438042
Call upon the azure in your blood to sniff condescendingly at this peasant. Not like your ancestors came from the same place they did a long time ago, totally.

>>4437531
Get in the car and say you don't have it and they shouldn't care.

Writing!

“Excuse me?” you said haughtily, despite feeling a quavering everywhere but in your voice at this new development. No, you couldn’t be afraid, no matter how much your gut insisted upon it- in this situation, that could kill you. Being above suspicion was your only defense, and the best way to do that…was to mimic how you’d seen Maddalyn act when her authority was questioned. “My business is with Kommissar Alrik Zohl, not some peasant playing with their master’s toys. Remove yourself unless you’re attending me with your superior. I was told I would be meeting man to man.”

There wasn’t any suspicion on the Guard’s face as you spat that out…though maybe that would have been preferable to his face reddening, teeth grinding. “What’d you say, Imperial pig? You think you can talk to me like that, shit stick?”

He wasn’t even taller than you, but the immediate aggression made you flinch, something the Guard picked up on immediately as he took a step forward into your personal space. You glanced back, and were relieved to see your crew out…especially your squat driver. He’d save you, surely.

“Hey, look at me,” the Guard grabbed your face with a meaty hand and wrenched it back towards his own face, “I don’t know how you lot act in the Archduchy but around here, we treat each other with respect they’ve earned. Here I am trying to be helpful and you just throw it in my face with an insult? Let this be a lesson.” The Guard first caught you right in the ribs with a quick, hard knee, then slammed his fist right into your nose, and you blacked out for a moment, finding yourself flat on your ass, dizzy, blood spouting out a searing pain in your nose. “Shit head punk.” The man said as he walked away, sounding fuzzy at first as your senses returned.

Choking and sputtering, you stumbled up, pulling yourself on the combat car, looking hopefully for the sight of Malachi giving that Guard a taste of his own medicine…but instead, you felt his hand helping you up.

“Yahrredard.” Malachi muttered unhelpfully. A muddled statement you had no real response for. “Okhay?”

“Yeah, I’m fime,” you groaned, leaning back on the combat car, feeling a numbness spreading in your nose then being replaced with gnawing pain, “Pfeh.” You spat on the snow.
“I uh, don’t really know why you did that,” Stein agreed nervously, “He could have torn your head off if he wanted to, Commander.”

“I diduh’t want to dalk duh him.” You turned over and rested your head on the car, before prying yourself back to a straight posture. You’d been beaten worse before, suffered worse humiliation. Finally you grew aware of a snickering near you. “I do’t see whad’s so damn fummy,” you said sorely.

“Eymabaeg baed noble, feaer me,” Jorgen said in some lighter pitched mockery of your voice, “Oogfh!” The northman made a pratfall, doubling over. “Ehhahahehehheh.”

Whatever. Your loader finding levity in the situation was actually helpful if you thought about it. It made this appear completely normal, which it absolutely wasn’t. Not that it didn’t piss you off a bit- enough to maybe ask Jorgen if he was really laughing at you later. You would happily take Anya’s jabs, but your crew?

Maybe you shouldn’t be so damn prideful when that was all a show in the first place?

Fine, fine. Getting punched in the face and kneed in the ribs just put you in a disagreeable mood.

“Hey, quit laughing,” Stein said defensively as he touched a cloth to your nose to stop the blood dumping out of it, “The Commander’s pretty hurt-“

“All of you shut up a moment,” Hans said with uncharacteristic roughness, “I want to keep an ear out.” He had a headset on, and was glaring at the radio set. “Just in case anybody tries to reach us.” You could tell though, just staring at him and his expression, that he wasn’t listening for friends.

You didn’t dare ask what he was listening for, but you trusted that he’d make noise about it if necessary. Relax, Richter. This will go just fine. Hopefully the worst has already happened.

Nobody bothered you afterwards, as the Guard evidently went back to tell his fellows to not bother interacting with the likes of you. Good. If you refused to be proper with anybody but Zohl, he had no choice but to come here. Then…you’d have to trust the NLF’s marksmen. If only you had Hilda here…

…

…No, you couldn’t ask more of her. That had been why you’d sent her away in the first place. Would you have, though, if you knew everything that would happen to you, around you? Had you been foolish for the sake of sentimentality?

Mope once Zohl is dead. Here he comes now.

You snapped your head up that sound of an APC approaching. Finally, you drew yourself up, holding a fresh cloth to your nose, the initial flow having finally ceased, you could end this scheming creature who was naught but a scourge upon this world.

An eye kept on that APC as it drove past, stopped- its back opened…Zohl didn’t come out yet, but you stared with spite towards those doors perpendicular to you. That Guard who had humiliated you went up, was talking to somebody…you heard laughter. Good. We’ll see if your final breaths being laughs will serve you when your sins are judged by the Most High.
That smug bastard finally came out, and your smoldering thankfully kept you from smirking. Not that he didn’t look absolutely joyous to see the state of you, as he practically skipped over, his Kommissar’s gold-embroidered black cloak whipping about behind him.

“Frankly, Coordinator, as unfortunate as it is to see you in such a state, I can’t help but feel happy that we’ve finally begun to come to accords, hm? Though perhaps it took sufficient wounding of your pride..?” That look on his face was so irritating, that self-satisfaction in beholding you so beaten down in body, and presumably, in spirit. Bastard.

A breeze. Zohl glanced off to the side with it…and then…

>Roll 1d100 for NLF stealth. How many dice you get to roll for the best of afterwards depends on how low that d100 is. 1-10 is four dice, 11-45 is three, 46-75 is two, 76-100 is one. Lower is better for all.

Rolled 88 (1d100)

>>4438531

>>4438543
You get one!
DC 60 Roll Under.

Rolled 10 (1d100)

judge help us

>>4438547
>>4438554
Well you know what they say about only needing to be lucky once.

The breeze stopped. Your mouth went dry. Then…

POOOWW!!

An ear splitting explosion, and Zohl was no longer looking at you- or anywhere. He’d vanished from sight, and with a terrified glimpse down, you saw that his head above the neck had been utterly obliterated.

“An anti-tank rifle!” One of the Netillian veterans shouted, “Ambush! Ambush!”

To their credit, Netilland’s elite were no slouches when it came to unexpected battle. As pops and cracks rang out all over, they expertly took cover and returned fire, at first chaotically, then expertly, in what little time you had to observe before the cracks grew near you and you recovered your senses. You could hardly contain your elation at the grisly sight of a decapitated corpse- We’ve come to accords on your death! Ha ha ha!

A bullet buzzed just by your face, and you were snapped out of it, a strong hand tugging you around the combat car’s flank- though from the sound of things, there was fire from all sides, and the Fear was quickly overpowering…hide, hide it said, or run…anything!

>As far as anybody knew, this was an enemy attack. Rally your crew and “fight” back! (Requires a resolve roll)
>Dive under the Combat Car- nobody could blame you for hiding, and it was the best cover to take to avoid being a target…
>Pile in the Combat Car and flee- what reason did you have to be around here any longer?
>Dash into the cottage- it was the best cover around, after all, fully walled off and with convenient windows.
>Other?

>>4438593
>As far as anybody knew, this was an enemy attack. Rally your crew and “fight” back! (Requires a resolve roll)
Over confidence and all that jazz, but every chance we got to fight back against the fear is one we should take.
Also makes us look less suspect in the long run.

>>4438593
>>As far as anybody knew, this was an enemy attack. Rally your crew and “fight” back! (Requires a resolve roll)
Based on how this attack goes, I think we get more options to work with if Zohl's troops see us trying to fight back. Things like rallying Zohl's infantry around our armored car or something like that to show that Zohl isn't around to give orders and we took command might let the ambushers get the message and get them to back off a bit.

>>4438593
>>As far as anybody knew, this was an enemy attack. Rally your crew and “fight” back! (Requires a resolve roll)

>>4438593
Hell yeah, we got him. Was really worried he wasn't going to show up.

>As far as anybody knew, this was an enemy attack. Rally your crew and “fight” back! (Requires a resolve roll)

Remember we're supposed to get injured here to help remove suspicion from us. This option seems like the best to both get us injured and seem like we didn't know this was coming.

>>4438593
Since we have to fight against the fear here, and we're in "combat", is there a possibility for us to gain a valor point?

>>4438607
>>4438629
>>4438693
>>4438729
Go in full on pretending.
Of course, if the resolve roll is failed, you'll randomly go for one of the other ones.

Give me three rolls, averaged, DC 50 roll under.

>>4438738
You don't really know the nature of how restructuring your willpower works, of course, but considering that your psyche was fooled by a bad trip on mountain drugs, it could be worth trying!

Rolled 27 (1d100)

>>4438872
pray

Rolled 48 (1d100)

>>4438872

Rolled 87 (1d100)

>>4438872

I'm going to say that as usual with averages, I should have said "Up to three" as that was what was meant, so I'll discount the ones besides that initial one as contrition.
Anyways, I'll be eating then writing.

>>4438914
was wondering about that, thanks tanq

Deep breaths, in and out…gathering thoughts in the middle of a fight. Idiotic, but you had to trick yourself to not be overcome. It’s all fake, it’s all a performance, your life isn’t in danger. It was close…but the thudding of your heartbeat in your ears didn’t drown out your thoughts, it didn’t unwind your nerves to strands.

“Sdand, Mem!” you said in a phrase that was supposed to look good for an audience but with your nose in its present state sounded like it was being spouted by a fool, “We fide!”

You looked about to your men, and every single one of them was giving you a look like you were insane.

“Ah’ll geddonde gun,” Jorgen said, opening a steel door, “Caennehn’s sueceaede.”

“I godda dell de oders whad’s goin on,” you sputtered as you got up and sprinted for the armored personnel carrier.

“Wait!” you heard Stein shout, but your entire role here was to be injured in the fighting. Acting in a safe manner wouldn’t let the NLF even try to get a shot on you. Please let it be just a little flesh wound, you thought to yourself.

A machine gun’s slow chattering accompanied repeated cracks just over your head as you scrambled towards the APC…at a not at all impressive pace as you dragged your still recovering leg behind you, falling at one point and proceeding at a comical on-one-knee gait the rest of the way, scrambling up by the rear doors of the APC you headed to. By it was a squad leader of the Guard, shouting orders.

“Get that Munitions Caster firing! I want bombs in every direction we can sling them!”

CHOOMPH. CHOOMP. CHOOMP.

The turret of the APC let out a series of heavily delayed hollow thudding noises- some sort of mechanical stationary variant of the shell thrower?

“The hell are you doing here!?” the squad leader demanded, as a crack rang out and a harsh pchang! clanged off and to the side of his breastplate. “Agh! Eat this!” He snapped back, not sounding particularly wounded as he cracked off a series of shots with his self-loading rifle. It must have been a glancing blow. “Get in cover, you!”

“I-I’m not,” you coughed out, “We need to fight these people off. I’m going to have my people concentrate, concentrate fire south, alright? Your commander’s dead, I’m taking-“

“I’m well fucking aware,” the Guard cut you off, “We can handle this. South, you said? Go and get that fire out now, then!” A few more pings as a shot bounced off a door, ricocheting inside the vehicle. “God damn it,” the Guard swore, “get going!”

>Roll 2d100 for the NLF Elite’s ambush and retreat scores- higher is better. Their Combat Skill is 60, against the Guard’s Combat Skill of 90. Also, roll another 1d100 for the hit against you- the lower the roll, the worse a hit it is for you, but it won’t be lethal or long term crippling even if it goes as bad as it gets.

Rolled 68 (1d100)

>>4439030

Rolled 94 (1d100)

>>4439070
Im dumb, thought it was two sets of 1d100 not a 2d100. Heres the second set.

Rolled 95 (1d100)

>>4439030

Rolled 66, 78 = 144 (2d100)

>>4439073
To be honest it was meant to be sets but I've been slipping up on specific terminology it seems. Anyways.

>>4439075
Gee Coordinator that's an awfully nice flesh wound.

Rolled 4, 3 = 7 (2d4)

>>4439080
128-156: Two degrees of defeat
154-168: One degree of defeat
To be expected fighting Netilland's elite, really, but all one can expect is to not be beaten hard, no?

Off scrambling back you went, but right as you set out…

A crack, then sharp pain in your right arm that you had against the wall- your good hand snatched out to grab it, and you felt the blood, the burn…and decided to not think about it as you ran back in some lurching lope that felt as stupid as it probably looked. If you were one of the NLF people you’d try and shoot yourself just for how you felt then, but thankfully, only near misses came at you…moreover, the return fire had fully increased in volume. If the NLF were wise here they wouldn’t linger much longer.

“I-I’m back,” you panted as you collapsed by the combat car, Jorgen letting off controlled bursts while hunched behind one of the machine guns, “Direct fire south, though they shouldn’t be around much longer…” Chping! “Shit!” you jumped as a bullet splashed against the solid steel of the center of a wheel a few steps away.

“Commander, you’re hurt,” Stein gestured to your arm, and you released your grip on it to give it a look…there wasn’t much blood, it seemed, and thought the burn was there, when you felt the wound, it was…not near the center. No bone breaking, splintering. A sigh of relief that came out more as a strangled honk.
“It’s fine,” you said, “Get on the cannon, fire south, quickly now…”

A few more shots told you to take cover on the other side of the car, and you threw yourself into the snow and crawled under the car to the other side. You pulled out your pistol and shot a few rounds south as the cannon began to swivel about, but by the time it was pointed south…there was no more incoming.
The cold air blew away the gunsmoke, and there was an odd silence, until you heard the Guards call to one another.

“Status report!”

“Three wounded, sir, not counting the Kommissar.”

“Fucking hell,” the squad leader crunched over to you with a furious look, “Fuck was all this? Should have just handed off the damn info. Bet they came around because we were waiting around so fucking long.”

“…The Kommissar was the one who was late, don’t try and lay blame for this on me,” you said sorely.

“So you’re going to give it over now?”

“Hell no,” you snapped back, huddling back, “You think I’m going to give over sensitive information to you after this? I’ll hold it until I find a secure source again.”
For a moment you were concerned that the Guard leader would punch you like his subordinate did, and he very much looked like he wanted to, but he scoffed and waved you off. “Get the fuck out of here. You can bet I’ll write something up on this clusterfuck. Judge Above.” He turned and called out to his men, “Fan out and round up any wounded enemies! We gotta see if this was chance or if they knew we were meeting here somehow…”

“…Let’s go,” you muttered to your crew, and as you went off, a hasty bandage tied around your wound (a deep gouge with splatter from the bullet scuffing elsewhere around, but hardly a permanent or particularly nasty affair), you had a lingering sense of dread. Not that Zohl would suddenly reappear like Liemanner, or get back up like a Soulbinder might- thank heaven- but that that Guard Leader would actually get anywhere in his follow up. Well, even so, he wouldn’t have anything overnight. There was time to at least do this last favor for the King…

Though perhaps it could be left to somebody else, you thought as you touched your nose, felt your arm. Yes, best to clear up the situation with Krause, in waiting for “anything wrong,” and get yourself treated at a hospital…

-----

January 27, 1933

Things were…alright.

In your absence, the evacuation of the Eastern Resistance Army had proceeded- rather, their surrender, capture, and handing over to the Gendarmes proceeded, without any opposition as Zohl had been eliminated. You could only hope that Zohl’s prisoners would do just a little better without the torment of that blight upon the world. An NLF missive came to you the day after, lamenting losses among their elite, but celebrating that Kommissar Zohl had had proper vengeance taken upon him. A weak willed investigator had tried to ask about the “sensitive information” that you had met with Zohl about, supposedly, but you denied any involvement, that it was an affair between you and Zohl, not whomever this man was. With the help of an official of His Majesty, and the calling of some help from Maenesko over in the UGZ…he was out of your hair for now.

Anya was finally walking about again, and her arm had escaped her sling. She was now less beaten up than you were. A relief- you had been afraid she’d never start to trend towards the better again after you had come back from Sosaldt and seen her with her wounded and exhausted as she was. She still seemed a bit haggard, which wasn’t great since she was scheduled to be attending a party hosted by the King, but… at least nobody was gunning for you all anymore.

The Twaryians had cut some sort of deal shortly before the ERA had begun their evacuation, and the confusion in that had smoothened out your own procedures with the ERA and handing them off to the Gendarmes. The Twaryians had protested, but given that theirs were also being conveyed to a safe location over the borders, they didn’t act upon their displeasures. The Twaryians were plenty mum about how many losses they’d taken in the Battle of Dymny, and so too were the ERA, since you hadn’t heard of any boasting. At the very least, they were intact, and the King had sent a note of appreciation through his maid.

You hadn’t heard back from Emma yet. She was going, with your counsel, to go and attempt to possess the Duchess of Diamenglicia, the King’s cousin. Had she succeeded? Was she trapped? You didn’t know, but the Duchess would be attending the party next night, so if you were to find out, it’d be there. Or afterwards, when Emma would presumably loosen any hold on her own.

For now, though, you were oddly relaxed. Nothing was being demanded of you, the insurgency had gone nearly silent after the tragic passing (Hah!) of Kommissar Zohl, at least locally, and the Twaryians were still dealing with small uprisings all over, to the point an official Border Zone wide ceasefire was rumored to be being negotiated.

…You had slept in, but got up, ate…and wondered what to do to pass the time. Maybe you could ask after the various insurgency affairs? Ask around for small favors that needed to be done? Spar with Anya for the first time in a while? She probably did need to be tightened up again so she’d turn a suitable amount of heads at the social…

>You’ve got some free time. What would you like to do?
Also
>Would you or would you not like to attend this social? You are invited, but given your condition, you could easily excuse yourself…
Also, roll 1d2 to see if you got a Valor Point- or rather, if you successfully fooled yourself into thinking you were in terrible danger and braved it.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>4439189

>>4439189
>>4439192
>You’ve got some free time. What would you like to do?
We've been beaten up and mutilated enough this deployment, so I'd honestly wouldn't mind a timeskip to the social.
>Would you or would you not like to attend this social? You are invited, but given your condition, you could easily excuse yourself…
We should still go, maybe ask Wladyslaw if he can procure us some prosthetics and a mask so we look more presentable?

>>4439189
Take Anya out shooting if there is a safe spot to do so nearby. She bought all those new guns, I’m sure she won’t pass up a chance to shoot them. If she’s in a talking mood fill her in on the situation with Zohl, maybe ask if she feels like the risk was worth taking to go kill him.
Also still go to the party, just maybe don’t dance or interact with skittish nobles.

>>4439189
>You’ve got some free time. What would you like to do?
Focus on getting Anya some rehab; doesn't have to be sparring but get her moving around more. If there's a decent hosptial in Kamiensty maybe they can help.
Also still go for the ball.

>>4439189
Spar with Anya, then hang out with the crew, then check for letters from the wife.

>>4439189
>>4439225
And yes. Attend social.

>>4439189
>You’ve got some free time. What would you like to do?
Maybe small updates on how the crew and Anya are doing but I'm okay zooming over to the social.
Would be a good chance to get Mag in good graces with the King and see if he can join the winning side...

>>4439189
>This >>4439225, but shooting instead of sparring. We need to at least start on retraining to shoot left-handed anyway.

>Attend social

>>4439189
>>4439242
+1
Also look for a new book to read since we finished that one from the Emre guy about radical tanking.

How many times has Richter been shot now? Anyone have a running count?
>>4439242
I'm with this guy. At least operating bolt rifles left handed looks cool.

>>4439192
Looks good then.

>>4439199
Ask for chicken fingers and a face shield.

>>4439206
Rehabilitation. Focus on letters four and five.

>>4439225
Get beaten up, feed the rumor mill. Check for correspondence that has never been conveyed, but one can only hope.

>>4439203
>>4439242
>>4439398
>>4439398
Go shooting with those new guns.

>>4439235
Check on crew, look in on girl hair.

Writing!

>>4439405
>How many times has Richter been shot now?
Four times, not counting injuries from spalling of course.

Collecting yourself after the final affair with Zohl there would ever be, you felt yourself…inspired. From deep within, there was a new confidence. Was it from eliminating such a spiteful enemy, or was it from throwing yourself into danger, albeit a manufactured one? Either way it was a triumphant feeling, and considering all the ways you’d been hurt and mutilated lately, it was a sorely needed boost.

Your Valor has increased to 7. A confident step forth, one can feel they have firmly conquered the worst leg of their journey home.

Neither of you were in much a state for resuming sparring, but Anya had recently acquired new weapons, and you needed practice shooting in your new state…yes, going shooting would be good. Maybe you could invite your crew along? Hm, no, you thought, they could get their own time. That, and you would keep your no doubt embarrassing performance to as small an audience as possible.

You found Anya lounging about the tanks sitting on an empty crate, a wistful look on her face as she kept away from any of the crews, but when you brought up taking her new guns and going shooting, she seemed to snap out of a daze.

“Finally,” Anya jumped to her feet and stretched herself out, “I haven’t shot anything for way too long. I don’t think those guns have been shot ever, and the worst thing in the world’s a gun that never shoots.” She looked over the crews, “You want to take everybody out? Not like we’ve all been busy or nothin’.”

“Er, no. Last time there was an audience to both of us shooting, your gun collection expanded.”

“Yeah. And?” You only gave her an annoyed glance. ”Alright, fine, I see how it is,” Anya sighed, “C’mon, help me get the stuff. The police volunteers here set up a backstop and poles we can shove targets on. Doesn’t go out too far, but if it’s for fun it don’t matter.”

Or if you couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn anyways. “So you’re getting your guns? Do you need help carrying them?”

Anya gave you a bewildered look. “Huh? ‘Course not. I can carry three guns and a knife easy. Just get the targets.”

“Three? A knife?”

“The sawn offs and the munitions caster, and the knife pistol thing. Don’t give me that look, the munitions caster’s got rubber rounds. Not as fun as the stuff that blows up, but the people here start freaking out if you throw around the coolest stuff.”

“…I see…” you wondered exactly when Anya had learned this. “You’ll be alright getting all that?”

“You’re the one who’s looking like he got run over by a train,” Anya shot back- though her bandages were mostly off, she still had some nasty bruising on her face, and her broken cheekbone and nose were still tautly wrapped. She was up and about more out of defiance than anything. The largest change was that her arm was free again. “You ought to know by now I’ll be fine. Will you be fine?”

You got the point, but didn’t answer. “I’ll be right around, then. You’d better not be late.”

-----

The range that the 5th platoon had set up to practice their absolutely unpracticed marksmanship didn’t look particularly well used. True, they were busy being police, but considering their actual purpose was to slowly drip manpower to the NLF, you’d have appreciated if they at least taught themselves how to use a rifle before then. Oh well, it wasn’t like you were one to talk right now.

“Hey,” Anya said as she carefully placed each of the firearms she’d brough on a covered table space.

“You’re late.” By ten minutes, even.

“I was hungry,” Anya said defensively, “Really hungry. I’ve been starving ever since I got stuck in a bed for forever.”

She didn’t say anything about it, though? Fine. She at least sounded like she didn’t intend to be late, even though apologies were one of the least frequent occurrences in her vocabulary. “If you were going to eat I’d have appreciated something as well…”

“I’m not heartless,” Anya snapped, as she reached into the satchel at her side and held out a paper wrapped sandwich, “Bread baked today. I waited for the next batch, too. Saurkraut and corned beef, mustard. Cheese.”

“What kind of cheese?”

Anya blinked at you. “I dunno. Normal?”

“…Thanks,” you grabbed the sandwich. If she was hungry she should have said so…

“You brought other guns?” Anya looked at the weapons already on the table after you destroyed the sandwich with surprising speed.

“The ones I use…used, most.” Your eyes passed over them. A standard issue Strossvald tanker’s revolver, a Hagen carbine, Signy’s automatic pistol. “I have to get used to using them left handed before anything else.”

“You’ve only got the correct eye to use for that at least,” Anya offloaded her satchel- it rang and clinked with loose munitions, and studied your face. “Did you really have to piss that guy off? With the busted nose you’re starting to look like I did, except not as cute.”

“Hilarious.” You picked out a clip of 7.5mm ammunition, and looked at the Hagen carbine as you put in your ear protection. “I’m going to...figure this out here.” You theoretically knew how to load and work the bolt left handed, but it wasn’t something you had ever done. “You don’t mind helping me, right?”

“Nah. I’m not a good shot, though.” Anya admitted, “A better teacher might be…I dunno, that Hilda girl? Maybe your gunner? You were supposed to be the best one with guns around here.”

Not so anymore, certainly, you thought as you pushed the clip into the gun and closed the bolt clumsily. Twisting your hand over the bolt, you pulled it straight back…hm, maybe it would be better with a different sort of bolt action. The Hagen being a straight pull made this…somewhat awkward. Anya noticed it, too.

“Maybe I can grab one of the Netillian carbines from ponytail?” she asked, “Those turn up, might be easier.”

“It’ll be fine,” you insisted, not quite willing to change out from Strossvald weaponry just yet, “Another time. More important to reestablish myself with this before I get any foreign preferences.” Ch-clink. Another round flew out as you racked the bolt. “You can go ahead and get started, don’t wait for me.”

Anya shrugged and picked up the automatic short shotgun. “A’ight.” She opened the action, “I’ve checked this baby out plenty, I could hardly wait to finally give it a go.” One brass shell, then another, three, and a final one in the chamber itself as she close the action with a satisfying sounding ch-clack. “Now then,” she smiled a tight lipped expression of determination at the weapon, then put it over her shoulder and strolled out to the firing line. She swung the gun down as soon as she got there, dug it into her shoulder, and then-

CHPOW-CHPOW-CHPOW-CHPOW!

“Awww, yeah,” Anya said in a tone that sounded absolutely filthy as she let the gun down and rubbed her shoulder, “Rebellious little fucker, socks you every time you shoot it, but damn does that feel good.” She hopped back to you and thrust the shotgun towards you with a big grin on her face, “Hey, try this.”

“You…didn’t have any targets up,” you said flatly.

“I wanted a feel for it. It’s fun even without targets. C’mon.”

You looked at the shotgun, then back down to the carbine, then to the other guns. It couldn’t hurt, you supposed.

“Okay. How many rounds do you have?”

“Uh, I dunno,” Anya looked in the satchel and laid out a line of the brass shells, “…Man, they go quick. There’s about twenty, I think?”

“I’ll set up the targets first then. Help me with that.” You took the rolled up sheets and headed out towards the poles with tape, “…I wanted to ask about something while we were out, actually.”

“Yeah?” Anya took a target from you and unrolled it, “That the reason why you didn’t want anybody around?”

“No, not really.” Maybe a little. A look around to make sure you were absolutely alone. “Remember what I told you and the others, about how we took care of Zohl?”

“Yeah.” Anya snatched the tape from you, “What about it?”

“Do you think the risk to take care of him was worth it?”

“I mean,” Anya sniffed as she taped up a target and flattened it out fussily, “If you didn’t want to take any risks you picked a shit job. I don’t think taking risks is bad, and no, getting his ass out of the picture was worth it, but,” She turned and looked into your eyes, “I don’t like how you did it. Taking a gamble for your friends, counting on them, that’s one thing. Whenever I’ve dived into danger, I didn’t feel bad about it if I could count on the help of my allies.”

“You don’t think I could count on the NLF?” you asked as you began to line up another target on the same post.

“They’re not your friends,” Anya said as she tore off more tape, “I think you ought to have thought more about that before you went through with what you did. I think if they thought that killing you would have been better for their cause, they’d do it. It’s not that you can’t trust them at all, but you shouldn’t have put your life in their hands.”

“You’d prefer I put my life in, say, your hands?”

“Yes.” Anya said firmly.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Anya said in the slightest irritated tone that indicated that it wasn’t fine, but she was willing to let it go there. “You did bring your guys and all, instead of going all by yourself, so that’s something. Not like that jackass stunt you pulled that got you a shot in the eye.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you brushed that off, “One more target and that should do.”

“Mmm.”

The final target was set up a mere ten meters away, unlike the twenty five meter targets. Practically point blank, but considering your present skills, still likely a challenge. Anya loaded the shotgun again and handed it off to you, before stepping away and crossing her arms, leaning against the table as she observed you.

An instinctive right shouldering…then an awkward fix to shoulder it to the left. Judge Above, this felt wrong, you thought as you rested your cheek against the stock and looked down the plain sights to the twenty five meter target. The ten would be for the handguns.

CHPOW!

You surprised yourself as you pulled the trigger and the shotgun slammed into your shoulder hard enough that it could have been the Guard’s knee from the other day reincarnated. That pain in the pit of your shoulder, the loud report, and your squinting at the target to see if you might have hit it…tested Anya’s patience.

“C’mon!” She shouted at you, “Don’t shoot once and put it down, blast away! Imagine your girlfriend’s watching! You think those panties are gonna get soaked with just one little shot? Blow that imaginary fucker at the target into ground fuckin’ beef!”

Crudeness aside, she had a motivating point. You pushed the stock into your shoulder again, and yanked your finger back as quickly as you could.

CHPOW-CHPOW-CHPOW!

“Yeah, that’s more like it, killer!” Anya shouted, as she stepped up beside you with the short rifle and, without warning, emptied it at the same target. KRAK-KRAK-KRAK-KRAK! “Fuckin’ damn,” Anya laughed as she slung the gun on herself and rotated her right arm, wincing, “This one’s an iron boot too!”

You stretched your arm from that fresh beating that the shotgun inflicted upon your shoulder. “I think I should conserve the ammunition now,” you said, “I want to shoot the ten meter target then see how I did.”

The revolver was picked out and loaded, but as you pointed it at the ten meter target, Anya stopped you.

“Hey, I think I have some advice,” she said.

“I thought you weren’t a good shot?”

“Better than you, fairy boy,” Anya threw back at you, “But it’s like a knife, you know? You have to treat that gun as an extension of your body. You point that thing with confidence, and you shoot. Right now you’re teetering about with it like you’re trying to point a cannon or some shit.”

“Really?” you let your arm down, “What makes you say that?”

“I’m remembering how you used to do it,” Anya said, “You just raised that gun, aimed it, and hit. Like you just knew you’d do it. Don’t worry about hitting right now, that’s what I think, at least.”

It was entirely fair to be skeptical of Anya’s advice on marksmanship, but given that she based it on what she saw you do, maybe you should try it? You remembered shooting, but bizarrely, you couldn’t recall a thing on how you had done it. Thinking back to when you had impressive aim was like watching your life through your own eyes, but in a different body.

Eh. What the hell. You did your best to not hesitate as you tumbled into something assuredly resembling a proper stance and pointed the revolver as though it were an accusing finger, not minding overmuch that you weren’t certain of your aim as you pulled the trigger. Once. A moment. Two more times. Then each other shot conservatively taken. Anya didn’t comment on that you didn’t dump the gun’s ammunition as quickly as the shotgun; the pistol must not have excited her.

“Looks like that’s what it took,” Anya observed as leaned forward at the target, hands on her hips. A cocky glance back at you. “Do I get a thanks a lot?”

“I’ll call it fair use of knowledge,” you said, though as you stepped towards the target to retrieve it, you did see that the grouping was tolerable. Then again, this was at a post ten meters away. A child could do it. You probably could do that when you were barely over a decade old.

“Did better than you did over here,” Anya called out, “Makes me think that you oughta stick with your right hand and find a solution that way.”

“I’ve considered it,” you said as you scratched over the holes in the ten meter target with a grease pencil, “I sent a letter to King Wladysaw about him doing me a favor, getting a mask and prosthetics. He sent a message back late the other day about hand-harness prosthetic finger sets that could do surprising things…but that they were time consuming to make and require a precise fit. I also asked after a mask, for the social. Just one for the damaged half.”

“I said you should just leave it out,” Anya said sorely, ”Show those fancy pants what hard core looks like.”

That might have been the most flattering thing Anya had ever said about you, but not for a reason you liked. “I’m not going to try and scare the fancy pants. I’m making myself look presentable. I didn’t ask for anything complex, despite the King’s suggestion. Just a decent fit. Plain white, dull finished, wooden.” You stepped back to the guns, and tried to ignore Anya’s clear disapproval at your choice of being proper. “Is your dress done?”

“Mmyeah.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic,” you said as you picked up the Hagen carbine.

“It’s alright. Black and silver. Doesn’t show any of my scars, maybe the one here,” she pointed to her upper arm. “It’s got no back all the way down to here,” She put her other hand just above her bottom, “Not really feeling it.”

The thought of that was something you could really feel, but Anya had different priorities than what you thought would be most eye catching as friendly counsel. “You don’t have any scars on your back?”

“Except for where this one blew out the other side,” she touched her collarbone.

“Maybe that’s…the point?” You tried, “Captain Edelschwert should like it.”

Anya snorted at that. “So? I’m not dressing up for his sake. Anyways, they’re nice clothes, and it’s not like they’ll let me in wearing anything actually cool,” she straightened out her black leather jacket, as though to call attention to it as an example.

“Well, you wear things that are pretty cool most of the time anyways…” you sighed as you pushed a clip into the Hagen and made for the firing line again.

>Anything else you want to say or talk with Anya about?
Also
>Your marksmanship may improve faster focusing on a particular type of firearm. Pick a weapon type if you want to take advantage of this-
>Rifle
>Handgun
>No Specialization
>Other?

>>4440886
>Anything else you want to say or talk with Anya about?
How have the Ashes been since the move into the UGZ?
>Your marksmanship may improve faster focusing on a particular type of firearm. Pick a weapon type if you want to take advantage of this-
>Handgun
By the way does Strossvald have any semiauto rifles in service yet?

>>4440886
>Anything else you want to say or talk with Anya about?
Talk to her about the Ashes
Talk to her about us eventually going back home, if she'd want to be at our wedding, if she'll stick around long enough to join us when we go back into action.
Ask if she's had any deep thoughts about the nature of conflict recently, mostly as a joke.

>Your marksmanship may improve faster focusing on a particular type of firearm. Pick a weapon type if you want to take advantage of this-
>Handgun
We should focus on handguns first and then have Hilda help us with Rifles when we get back to Stross.

>>4440886
>Anything else you want to say or talk with Anya about?
Thank her for all the support we received from her.
Because honestly Anya's been a huge bro.

>Your marksmanship may improve faster focusing on a particular type of firearm. Pick a weapon type if you want to take advantage of this-
>Handgun

>>4440886
>Anything else you want to say or talk with Anya about?
Ask her to please not hit the Duchess in the nose again if she sees her. Just in case hard punches end possessions for Emma.
>Your marksmanship may improve faster focusing on a particular type of firearm. Pick a weapon type if you want to take advantage of this-
Shotgun, at least with buckshot Richter has a prayer of hitting something close. And if that's not an option then the hangun.

>>4440886
>Anything else you want to say or talk with Anya about?
Does she know of any other books that would help us recover our knowledge?

>Your marksmanship may improve faster focusing on a particular type of firearm. Pick a weapon type if you want to take advantage of this-
I would say Rifle but we can focus on that with Hilda, so for now
>Handgun

>>4440903
>>4441087
I have a feeling training with Hilda will only result in unnecessary moral suffering for her.

>>4441096
Everything will result in moral suffering for Hilda.
For example, I'm more than sure that NOT letting her help us recover our skills will make her suffer WORSE because she'll end up thinking it's her fault or something.
You can't win with the poor girl, only mitigate her constant angish and try to get something in return.

>>4441099
>she'll end up thinking it's her fault or something
it is

Finally here proper again.

>>4440896
>>4440903
Ask about the Ashes.
And other stuff.

>>4440917
Please stop the series of broken noses.

>>4441087
What's on your reading list?

>>4440907
Give her a thank.

>>4440896
>>4440903
>>4440907
>>4441087
Handgun

>>4440917
Steal Anya's gun and make that your weapon of choice.

Writing.

>>4440896
>By the way does Strossvald have any semiauto rifles in service yet?
That depends on what one defines as "in service." Strossvald's military units are equipped to at least a minimum standard by requirement of the Capital territory. Such standards do not presently require self loading rifles, and frankly, the Archduchy hasn't made an effort to introduce them either. So, present numbers of such are limited to personal investments from territorial lords or their associates to very select units.

Of course, this isn't particularly unusual on the continent, given the expense of replacing a standard infantry arm.

“Hrrmmpph,” you growled at your wretched performance after you shot ten rounds. You did hit the target- once. Maybe it was too much to try and gain familiarity with every sort of weapon at once, especially with your present disabilities in grip. Handguns seemed to be taking more to you, and admittedly, you had actually used them more frequently than any rifle lately. It’d be better for you to stick to those.

>Handgun preference selected. Your shooting ability will be a level higher with Handguns than with long arms.

“I think I’ll stick with the handguns,” you said to Anya as you put the carbine down again, “They’ve been what I’ve resorted to as of late anyways.”

“Could always try the Munitions Caster. Don’t even have to hit close to blow something up.”

Somehow you predicted that not going well. “Maybe.” You picked up Signy’s pistol and slid the magazine out, pushing rounds into it slowly. “Have you seen the Ashes? How are they doing?”
Anya exhaled slowly, preemptively exasperated. “They’re fine, but they actually need more attention, which wasn’t what I’d hoped for. I taught them well enough how to survive, but the scamps just can’t stay out of trouble.”

“Sounds like they take after their mommy.”

“Shut it,” Anya seethed at your jab, “But…yeah, I guess I did act like they did, stealing shit, mostly, but they don’t need to do that, see? A few of them are just being little punks. They shouldn’t do it again though.”

“You punished them?”

“Yeah,” Anya smirked and mimed tying a knot, “Made them drink a lot of water then dangled them upside down for a bit. Told them I’d come up with something worse if I caught them doing shit again.”

A memorable incident in your past flashed to mind again, and you wondered if that sort of punishment wasn’t proper- but then, it wasn’t like Anya had had such inflicted on her by her own mother, who she had told of barely even being there, practically. Compensation in the other direction, maybe?

“Honestly,” Anya’s smile faded, “They don’t like being here. At least in the woods they could pretend to screw the Netillians around, but here, they’re just in their designated living space. I’m scared I’ll check on ‘em, and a few will have run away to where their friends went.” She sat down and put her chin in her hands. “At least they can’t starve, not with the rations given out, but there’s not a lot to go around and a few of the bad apples just want more to feel like they’re helping each other, even if they’re taking from their people.” She stretched her arms above her head and leaned back into the table, “Whatever. Maybe I should be satisfied that they’re not being sold into slavery or fucking killed.”

For the topic of a bunch of children, Anya sounded like she had a load to get off her chest. A change in subject might have been appreciated, you thought as you picked up the third magazine to load it.

“So,” you led off, “When we head out of here. Will you stay around a little bit, before you leave to wherever?” Anya had declared to you that she’d go off after this, when you didn’t need somebody to watch out for you or something.

“Maybe.” Anya kept her eyes on the embankment, staring over it, at the horizon. “Why? I don’t want to be having lead slung at me for some fat old Archduke my whole life, retinue or not. The world seems like a neat place and I want to see it, even if it’s just as a gun for hire.”

“Well, I was thinking…maybe you would like to come to my wedding..?”

Anya turned her head to stare at you now. Then wrinkled her nose like you’d said a joke. “Nah, I don’t think your bitch girlfriend would like that.”

“She’s not a bitch,” you said instinctively, defensively, “She just needs to know you better.”

“Sorry, Richter, but,” Anya looked back out, “Pretty sure she doesn’t want to, and the feeling may as well be mutual. Just stirring up trouble for no reason. That marriage thing would be her best day I bet, and I bet sticking my nose in it would just ruin her fun. So no thanks.”

“Alright.” It would have been rude not to ask, at least. “Will you be coming back to join me in action again, you think? After you’ve…seen the world a bit.”

Anya didn’t say anything right away. “Maybe. Probably.” She said noncommittally, “If I don’t get killed or something.”

“All I’m saying is that you won’t stop being my Retinue.” Anya stared into your eyes after you said that, blinking twice. “Your monthly stipend won’t stop, I mean. So there’ll be plenty of money.”
“Sure,” Anya looked back over the embankment, “Don’t get too sentimental over some mercenary, though.”

“You are my Retinue,” you insisted, “And I’m grateful to you, for all you’ve done. You’ve been…as brethren, I suppose.”

“That so.” Anya said faintly, wind rustling through her hair. “Well, you too. Dunno if Hell would’a wanted it that way, but he’s in the ground and we’re up here. So.”

“What would he have wanted?” you asked curiously.

“Dunno, but I think he wanted to set me up with you. Think I might have hinted that before, he seemed to have an idea about it, ‘least, never said nothin’ outright about doing that. Probably for the best that it didn’t turn out that way. No offense, but I’m not into you that way at all.”

“None taken.” It did give you pause for thought. It had always been difficult to reconcile that you were attracted to this scruffy woman. Had that been as a result of your Uncle trying to look out for his family? Had your father known about this? You doubted it. Frankly, besides your Id, it wasn’t like you were “into” Anya either, and that was a good thing. “…So have you had any other deep thoughts? About what’s going on here?” You asked that in a joking tone. That last question had suddenly felt awkward, even if it was to clear up a truth both of you knew.

“I ought to,” Anya said, “Since I’m an Ellowian or whatever. All the posturing and preparing is a bit funny to me. The work around here’s pretty similar to what we used to do all the time in the Hogs, nothing’s really hit the fan yet. Almost wish it would. Closest it got was when we were screwing around with Gerovic. I think everybody should stop putting this all off, but hey, as long as I’m getting paid and I’m not dead, I can’t complain, can I?” She paused. “Guess you wanted a funny answer? How about…I wish there were more hot guys around here?”

“There’s plenty,” you half joked back. “Might be a few at that dance. Oh, speaking of…you aren’t going to sock the Duchess in the face again, right?”

Anya squinted at you and pointed up and down her body, “Yeah, I’m really curious of what she’ll do next. Nah, I think she’ll just kill me. No thanks. She’s not that fun to whack in the face. Barely.” The bruises on her face had mostly faded away- thank goodness, though her cheekbone still had protective bandages on it. Your eye should have been getting better too, you thought- just one more week? Two weeks? Best to wait two, especially since you’d been punched in the face just the other day.

Also, you didn’t want Emma to be punched in the face without warning, but Anya had apparently let it all go.

“Well then,” you decided three magazines was plenty, though you’d finished loading all of them way before- you just got distracted talking. That, and you didn’t have anymore for Signy’s pistol, “I guess I ought to practice more now.”

File: tcqscene169.png (709 KB, 819x900)

709 KB PNG

“Yep,” Anya heaved herself up, “I’ve gotta shoot away all these shells, too,” She hefted up the shotgun too, and looked out towards the targets with anticipation in her eyes.

“One more thing though,” you said as you stood up, “I need to read a new book. I finished Knights of the New Century a bit ago.”

“Have you read through Skarnhorst?”

You had done your best, but by your reckoning, everybody needed a break from Skarnhorst’s massive tome once in a while, first reading it. Well, not first, in your case, but it may as well have been. “I’d like to diversify my selection.”

“Alright then. How ‘bout The Fiercest Prey? The only book any Yaegir’s bothered writing, or so I hear. By a guy called Saeker.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“I figure not, it’s not about tanks, or normal war in general, really. He details what he learned as a scout, an infiltrator. I learned a lot by reading him, though, way back. I’ve been refreshing myself some while I’ve been laid up. All about exploiting people’s weaknesses in awareness and assumptions, using the terrain and all that. I’ll lend it to you, it’s not a long read. Yaegirs aren’t a wordy bunch.”

“I figured,” you thought of your own northern forester crewman, “Thanks.”

“Enough yappin’,” Anya loaded a shell into the shotgun, “More shootin’! We spent so long, the air don’t even smell like gunsmoke anymore!”

-----

>Hang out with your crew (Doing/talking about what?)
>Get your best on for the ball tomorrow.
>Other/Anything else?

>>4442376
>Get your best on for the ball tomorrow.

>>4442376
Happy smiling Anya is best Anya

>Get your best on for the ball tomorrow.
See if the King sent any fancy accoutrements for those wounded war heroes who can't make the peace sign anymore.

>>4442374
I get a feeling Anya is at least a bit upset over getting brozoned.

>>4442376
>Get your best on for the ball tomorrow.

>>4442376
>Get your best on for the ball tomorrow.

>>4442376
>Get your best on for the ball tomorrow.
Hell may have not wanted it this way, but Anya and by the extent the Iron Hogs are family as far as I'm concerned. Distant cousins maybe, but family all the same. And given all they've done at least Anya should've have come to the wedding, even if Maddy would have seen her as a rowdy inlaw.

>>4442376
>Get your best on for the ball tomorrow.

>>4442376
>>Get your best on for the ball tomorrow.

>>4442376
>Get your best on for the ball tomorrow.

>>4442405
>I get a feeling Anya is at least a bit upset over getting brozoned.
For clarification, the tone she took for "That so" is more of a pleasant surprise rather than disappointment.

Anyways it looks like you're ready to head off to that social. Writing.

>4 off
Better luck next time, boss
>>4442434
Agreed, Anya's really grown on me since the shift to Ellowie. Cousins in probably the word I'd use to describe her and Richter as this point too. Alabama Cousin even

You’d have liked to spend all day shooting, but the tragic reality was that Anya’s itchy trigger finger spent most of the ammunition in under an hour. It was fine. You got your practice in, and you both had fun. Though you made a note for next time that you’d need an entire crate of munitions.

A plain day was what remained. The troops had things to do, but they were mundane. Patrols, training, nothing out of the ordinary. Things were largely back to the way they’d been in the early days you’d spent here, and though that was dull business, it was at least not unpleasant. Actually, your involvement in anything was so small that you spent most of the rest of the day around your officers and tank crew, doing token maintenance while shooting the shit until time came for the parts you had to be ready for tomorrow, at least, if you were going to even be vaguely presentable.

…Your best wasn’t exactly picked from a catalogue. The Ellowian tanker’s jacket wasn’t a fancy thing, but a grey coat made more for function than fashion, the sort even your less courtly inclined self knew wasn’t tolerable for this sort of event. Thankfully, you did still have your Strossvald Panzer officer’s uniform. It had been beaten and stained, but with the remaining time you had an acceptable level of care was provided to it so that it looked well used rather than ratty.

Though a thought crossed your mind that a wounded man kept together by gauze bandage might not have been the best representative of that uniform. You’d have to make up for it by insisting your worth of it…even if you couldn’t presently perform to the high standard you admittedly set. Vain for your abilities, or vain for your accomplishments? Some pride was healthy for one in your place, was the retort to yourself.
Also, you had no escort to this party. Which was a signal to all in attendance that you were available, regardless of any circumstances outside of the event. For the first time you thought that having half your face burned off might work for you. Thanks Bertram. Rot in hell.

Not that you wouldn’t need that mask. You wouldn’t stand making your fiancée look pitiful by being by your side. Thankfully, it came in the evening, and as was expected for a piece purposefully measured, a perfect fit. Though it might not have been as plain as you’d have liked- the artisan couldn’t resist putting in a decorative flair in the form of a wavy wing-reminiscent pattern from the center and through the right eye hole, the only feature on the otherwise blank as requested piece.

An additional unrequested detail was another half- that was properly devoid of features, but clearly meant to combine with the first mask to form a whole. You didn’t know if you wanted to wear a full mask yet, and hoped you never needed too, but at least the courtesy was there, and you could hardly complain about that.

So long as it didn’t give you yet another unflattering nickname.

-----

January 28, 1933

Twilight had crept over Perlowieza, and the gates to the castle finally opened to accept the guests to the social. Most well to do guests had waited in their vehicles they had come in, though a fair few smallfolk were crowding the space outside the Castle’s outer fence, where the King had deigned to show some generosity by funding a street fair in a ring around the place, as well as some streets directly below to give the event a good scale.

You and Edelschwert had only seen about half of it, and by seen you of course meant that Anya had dragged you both through it.

“Sergeant,” Edelschwert had taken hold of Anya’s arm and was tugging at her like he had a dog on a leash, “Didn’t you hear the announcer? The castle is open!”

“The stuffy nobles and moneybags elite can wait a couple of hours,” Anya strained against Edelschwert’s grip, “Lemme go! Or come with me!”

“You’re to dance with the King, Anya,” you grabbed Anya’s other arm, lightly, since it was her wounded one, but a terrific wrenching forced you to grab her higher up around the shoulder.

“Would you piss off?” Anya snapped as she was lifted off the ground by you and Edelschwert, “If you want to go in so bad, take girly hair in and dance with him!”

“Your dress isn’t fitted for him,” you replied. Anya’s dress was very closely fitted to her, as she had shown you and Edelschwert before you went. The tailor that made it had a clear goal of flattery, though it was mostly hidden under a long coat considering the chill outside.

“It won’t fit much longer,” Edelschwert added, “If you gorge yourself any more on strieble and pierogis.”

“Eat me.” Anya stuck her tongue out.

“You will want what they’ll have in the castle,” Edelschwert continued to insist, until he thought of something suddenly and let Anya back onto her feet. “What if we came back out here when you’ve done what you need in the castle? Fairs get plenty more lively once it’s properly dark.”

Anya shut up for a second, as she wriggled free of you. “Can I get that in writing?”

Edelschwert crossed an arm over his chest and bent in a slight bow. “You have my solemn word and guarantee of it, Lady Nowicki.”

“Yeah, knock that off,” Anya muttered sorely, “Friggin’… doing that on purpose. Let’s get this over with, then.”

“I promise you, Lady Nowicki,” Edelschwert sounded amused at how Anya recoiled at that, as he slipped his arm into her’s- she was being escorted, after all. “These winter fairs especially improve after dark, as when the sun departs, the fire basins are stoked all around, and the festival lights allowed to glow without the overpowering competition of the sun. It is a poor decision to spend oneself before dark, trust me.”

Anya was steadily pacified by that elaboration as her shoulders slouched back into a relaxed slope. “What sort of food do y’think he’s got in that castle?”

“You ought not to dance on a full stomach, but,” Edelschwert kept a brisk pace, but slowed a moment to think, “Considering the King’s extravagant nature and need to impress, particularly in his own dwelling, I would not doubt he would have some exotic selections.”

“D’you think there’ll be eel?”

“Eel?” Edelschwert coughed in surprise, “Perhaps. As well as Iceforth Halibut, West Caelussian Ptarmigan, almost certainly Vynmark Bluff Conies…”

“I…don’t know what any of that is.” Anya said lowly, put off guard by this flood of items that even you didn’t know all of.”

“A halibut is a fish,” you provided, “and a ptarmigan is a bird.”

“Like a chicken?”

“…Sort of.” Not particularly, but it was easier to leave it at that. “I’ve never heard of Vynmark Bluff Conies…are they hunted?”

“Ha, no,” Edelschwert shook his head, “It would hardly be difficult to do that, but they are specially bred rabbits, practically unable to live in the wild. Fat bodied, very meaty, and covered in soft fur. They are rather hard to care for, however, so they are quite costly creatures. So they tend to have that trait exemplified with equally costly herbs and spices.”

“You know a lot about food, huh.” Anya had been listening attentively.

“I should hope I do, considering my hobby. I find little opportunity to do it with my occupation, but,” Edelschwert put a hand over his chest in modesty but you could hear his pride, “I am a quite capable cook.”

“You-“ Anya sputtered, “You, you can cook?”

“Indeed I can. My proud house of knightly folk has some closely guarded recipes that we’ve not let a single chef touch,” suddenly Edelschwert was on guard again. “Though I predict I am about to be made fun of, am I not.”

“…Uh, yeah, ha ha,” Anya choked out. “I mean, no, that’s pretty cool, actually.” Anya sounded like she’d just been punched in the ribs without expecting it.

“In any case, there is more to socials than dancing and food and wine. Admittedly not much more,” Edelschwert led her on.

“Like getting into fights and stopping assassinations.”

“Judge above, please, no,” you finally spoke up, “It would be nice to have a perfectly normal social this time…”

-----

King Wladysaw XI, High Protector, received you and all his other guests in a grand foyer, from atop a grand staircase made of black and white stone. Glittering crystal chandeliers made miniature stars in a night sky of a dark swirling ceiling easily visible as one craned their neck up to look at the Monarch, who had bedecked himself in a night blue three piece suit with a satin and silver cloak around his shoulders and a platinum gorget at his throat, his hair oiled backwards and a broad grin on his face.

“Good ladies and gentlemen, favored guests of my castle and country, I welcome you to this party in celebration of the turn of a new year of our honorable alliance with the North. I’m sure you would like to go to the more brilliant- and more providing- rooms in my home, so I’ll keep my welcome brief. I bid you to tour wherever you like of the castle, save where my servants will obstruct your passage. I guarantee you, I am not hiding the most interesting places! I would be loathe to not put such on display, after all. So come! I officially open my house to you all! Have the run of the place for fifteen minutes, but I bid you then to return to the ballroom- the dances shall start officially then, and I urge you to come and witness the most lovely and talented guest of honor…”

…

Judge Above, the mask hadn’t helped at all to dissuade the thirsty women about the place.

You had left Anya and Edelschwert to go elsewhere for now, but you were being hounded by young women. Wasn’t your mutilation supposed to make you ugly? Damn it all.

“You are the masked man?” A long black haired slender young woman in a white dress slit to the thigh had sidled by your flank, a wide and flowing garden of silk flowers forming a band around her just below her collar. “Does that mask have a story?”

“Not one I want to share,” you said gruffly for the third time in under ten minutes.

“Are you sure?” the woman put a hand on her hip and twirled a flute of wine in one hand, “Perhaps you’d like to come upstairs for some drinks? I’ve no partner for the dance, but I’d rather not have a man so boring that they have no secrets to trade with me…”

“Go away.” You sighed and went down the hall back towards the ballroom, where nobody was dancing yet but instrumentalists were playing (quite new, apparently) compositions regardless. This was nonsense. When you had been forced to come to court those few times in Strossvald you hadn’t gotten anything near this level of attention. Though that last white dress would have looked absolutely fantastic on Maddalyn…

Yes, you could have not come here at all, yet you had. Ostensibly not to be hit on by the entire single female population of Netilland’s neo-nobility, or…no, that last woman had had an Ellowian accent. Whomever happened to be here.

…Was that Maenesko you saw at the other side of the ballroom? How incredibly odd.

>Find and chat up somebody. This was a social gathering, after all, and it wasn’t like you were dancing with anybody. (Who, about what?)
>Bite the bullet and find some woman to hang on your arm so that you’d be left alone. This was getting to be tiring. (What sort?)
>Get away from the party and go to the street fair outside. That was more your speed anyways.
>Other?

>>4444866
>Find and chat up somebody. This was a social gathering, after all, and it wasn’t like you were dancing with anybody. (Who, about what?)
Go talk to Maenesko, find out how he managed to get an invitation and if he knows if any other notable Netillians were invited.

>>4444883
This works, maybe ask him how the Zohl's unfortunate passing has impacted the political situation.
>Other?
See if you can spy Mabel around, would be nice to hear (discreetly) if the ERA came through okay.

>>4444883
>>4444892
Supporting these.
Ask if he's heard anything from the higher-ups about Zohl's death beyond that guy we managed to blow off.
Maybe tease him on whether he's been able to find a good date here yet considering the amount of thirsty women.

>>4444862
Magnus is SO husband material.

>>4444866
Supporting >>4444883 and >>4444892

>>4444866
>Bite the bullet and find some woman to hang on your arm so that you’d be left alone. This was getting to be tiring. (What sort?)
Try to find a kindred spirit to make an alliance of convenience with to help fend off each other’s interested parties.

>>4444866
Supporting
>>4444883
>>4444892
Better get used to court and socials Richter, after Ellowie you might have to attend a lot more of it.

>>4444866
These >>4444883 >>4444892 >>4444904 are all cool. Keep an eye (1) out for the Duchess while you're at it.

>>4444883
>>4444892
>>4444904
>>4444908
>>4444962
>>4444892
>>4444962
>>4445808
Talk to fish guy, find a maid.

>>4444935
Find a woman who doesn't have any scars or mutilations. Yet.

Writing.

>>4444908
>Magnus is SO husband material.
You're already engaged bucko.

>>4445928
How's Richter's cooking skills? Or is he the kind to leave it to the servants?

What in the world was Maenesko doing here, you wondered. He wasn’t particularly important, as far as you were aware- his assignment as UGZ administrator had ostensibly been a punitive one, and hardly a place of prestige. You had to find out.

That, and it wasn’t like you were dancing with anybody anyways, and Maenesko appeared similarly alone.

“Sublieutenant,” you greeted Maenesko as you approached, “I wouldn’t have expected to see you here.”

“Coordinator. I expect not.” Maenesko didn’t sound happy to be here, keeping his even and flat tone. He was dressed about as fancily as you were-which was to say, not at all, keeping his dark green Netillian uniform. “Ostensibly, I am here for my diligence in maintaining the UGZ-09. Funny, to be rewarded for keeping the High Protector’s subjects in a pen like animals, but a proper excuse to step out of the office can’t go unappreciated.”

“You are unescorted?” you asked next, “There’s quite a few eligible women prowling about. Anybody catch your eye?”

“No.” Maenesko said flatly, “I have not been looking. I’m not here for pleasure, after all.”

You crooked an eyebrow, and looked around for anybody close by, listening, or watching. “…Does that have anything to do with why you said ostensibly?”

Maenesko nodded once. “It isn’t my place to speak of it to you. It’s not something you’re involved in, but if you look about closer, you might notice similarly out of place people.” He motioned with his eyes to the side, and you looked over- a tall, strangely effeminate featured man, looking at both of you before gazing off and going elsewhere. “So for anything more unusual, I would recommend seeing one of the more unusual folk. For now, we shouldn’t have more than a passing word.” He left you alone, and as he walked away, gave a parting shot. “Good luck with those eligible women.”

That was a bit a shame, you had hoped to speak with him more- particularly anything concerning a follow up on Zohl. Such an influential person getting ambushed and killed couldn’t have been pleasant news for those higher up the ladder, and while a halfhearted investigation had come by, that appeared more motivated off a clueless guard’s suspicions than any higher office, with how easily they had been driven away. Any ripples of more authoritative sorts taking notice or planning action…had to be known before they sent anybody to look into you. You didn’t have much longer to stay here, getting investigated, or worse, imprisoned right before you were to leave, would be terrible.

Maenesko would surely tell you the moment he suspected something, though, right?

Well. Since this was Wladysaw’s castle, surely Mabel, his head maid, would be around here. Would she show herself at the party, you wondered? It was worth looking for her. You had more business with her.

It was funny how easy it turned out to be- there were no shortage of servants, and most of them at least had a vague idea of where Mabel was- apparently, she was supposed to be overseeing the other servants, but the fact that this wasn’t a chaotic or particularly demanding event had left most servants to their own devices…and Mabel up to hers, loitering on the third floor rounding overlook around the ballroom, the highest it went before the faded remnants of a grand painted ceiling of a lineage of kings going back to the times of Nauk, some of whom might have even been clients of the classical empire itself. She was looking over the balcony, down to the ground.

“Hello there,” you said to Mabel- very, very few people were up here when all the refreshment and entertainment was down below and a commanding view was attainable enough from the second ring. “What are you doing up here?”

“…I am monitoring his majesty’s security,” the maid said, in her serving (mostly ink-black) regalia again, the gore and mud spattered killer with the eyes of a tigress gone, near comically large spectacles either allowing actual sight to the ballroom floor, or being so blatant as to not question if she needed them.

“From the third floor?” It didn’t take a perceptive person to realize that this story had a major flaw.

Mabel didn’t look at you. “…The Gendarmes are able to keep his majesty’s person safe. If they begin to slack, I can send for somebody to make a firm suggestion to amend that.”
She could send somebody to make a suggestion? That didn’t sound very much like her at all. “…In any case. I came to speak with you about something.”

“Many in attendance would think less of one who sought out talk with a maidservant,” Mabel said back haughtily, clearly trying to blow you off.

“My mother was a maidservant,” you retorted. Albeit one of noble blood. “I wanted to ask what you thought of the events of a couple of days past.”

“That it was a self-indulgent waste of resources?” Mabel questioned nobody in particular, and her frankness made you think that she didn’t care who heard it, of the few people upstairs. “It was not a disaster, however, much was lost for little gain on its simplest face, and there will no doubt be harsh reprisals for those who remained rather than taking flight north. Yes, though, they had their battle, and slipped away. Is there aught else to say about it? The Twaryian diplomats managed to prevent the worse from befalling their own, as well.”

“I see.” What mattered to you most was that everything turned out alright. You’d gone through quite a lot to ensure this happened, regardless of what Mabel thought of the ERA.

“If that was all, then you should return to the lower levels." Mabel tried to brush you off, "The dancing is to begin soon.”

“I am unescorted anyways.”

“Then find some other person to speak to. You are disrupting my work.” Mabel’s tone was direct and firm- she hadn’t been willing to speak any more than necessary. Fair enough. You shrugged and began to make your way back downstairs. Though there weren’t many other people you could think of wanting to find right off. Maybe you could just relax some more? There was food and drink and music, after all…

…As well as a familiar sight that intercepted you in the relatively empty halls of the third floor before the stairs.

The short straight brown hair that fell to the neck, the self-aggrandizing posture, the only recently unbroken nose, as well as the golden circlet set with a brilliant diamond- that was all seen before. The dress she wore was stark black and white, strapless and close fitted in this woman’s usual style of playing to her strengths of appearance, a sheer silk golden hued scarf about her shoulders. However, her eyes- they were an unnatural, luminescent blue, like they were lit by cold flame.

“Von Tracht,” the Duchess Von Katski said haughtily, “I heard you were asking after the servants.”

“You’re a poor imposter,” you said with no hesitation, given that nobody was around, though you kept your voice low. “Kamilia Von Katski wouldn’t appear alone, I think.”

Kamilia’s face turned from its well-practiced pomp to a disappointed point that was extraordinarily out of place upon that face. “You’re no fun,” she complained, “Just because we’re alone doesn’t mean that you can’t play along.” The same voice, the same accent, but it was so clearly not the same person. You had expected her to sound like Emma- was inhabiting the Duchess’s body allowing her to mimic her exactly? “So, what do you think?” Emma, in the Duchess’s body, turned about like she was a model. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?” Emma tipped on her feet and set heavily back down on her heels, with a satisfied smile looking down at her chest. “I could get used to this.”

“She must not be very happy about this.” You couldn’t help but say.

“She doesn’t appreciate what she has,” Emma said, the face she borrowed turning tired. “She wants to smoke her opium. I haven’t let her have any of the stuff, and she hates it. Too bad. She wants to find some guy to get high with and get screwed, I want to dance. She can’t muster up much will to act, though, without her drug. So.”

“You’re…she’s an addict?” you asked in surprise. “How do you know what she wants? Do you…talk?”

“It’s funny,” Emma adjusted the circlet on her head, brushing bangs over an eye, “That’s not the way it seems to work. I am her, but she’s also me. It’s not like talking to somebody, it’s like knowing what they feel. Imagine…if you combined with another person, but were still yourself.”

A sudden dread. “…Would she remember this? You taking her over?”

Emma shrugged. “I dunno. I won’t be leaving for a while anyways, this poor lady needs help. Her body hates not being drugged, but I don’t really care about it. If I’m going to steal her life, I may as well try to do something good for her. She’s not a happy woman, Richter. I’d probably drug myself if one half of my family killed the other half, too. Maybe she just needs to learn how to live again.” She cleared her (well, the Duchess’s) throat, and assumed the royal posture again. “So, Von Tracht. I’ve heard you are unescorted. That won’t do for one of the Coordinator’s prestige, would it? It’s pathetic, really. I’m a generous sort, though. You would not turn down a dance, would you?” Emma didn’t like that your first reaction was to squint at her and frown. “What, you danced with that Anya girl, didn’t you? It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just fun. I’d rather ask one of your crewmen, but considering how this lady acts I don’t want to ask…well, a stranger.”

>It was a fair bit too familiar to dance with somebody that disliked you so vehemently, wasn’t it? Could she not…disguise herself?
>Not dance, no, but maybe you could help her find somebody who would? If she was afraid of encountering untoward intentions.
>You couldn’t be seen associating with the body Emma was inhabiting, unfortunately. Just tell Emma to stop worrying so much, the Duchess had enough power and influence that she wouldn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to.
>Other?

>>4446435
>How's Richter's cooking skills? Or is he the kind to leave it to the servants?
He knows how to put meat on a stick and burn it over a fire and how to prepare preserved rations to make them suitable for human consumption. So the latter when not in the woods for extended periods of time.

>>4446860
>>Other?
Dance with her. Who cares if people think it's strange- the lady's an opium addict after all. At worst it will make for some interesting court gossip.

>>4446860
>It was a fair bit too familiar to dance with somebody that disliked you so vehemently, wasn’t it? Could she not…disguise herself?
Maybe she could wear, a mask?

>>4446860
>>4447055
+1

I don't think we care if other people see us with Kamilia, but Anya might and we haven't told her about of any of the Wizard Bullshit. I don't see us being able to explain this to Anya if she is recognized, so if the mask isn't feasible then we'll have to forgo the dance, but at least while explaining why.

>>4446860
>>Other?
Dance with Emma

>>4446860
>Other?
Dance with ghost gal.

>>4446860
>>It was a fair bit too familiar to dance with somebody that disliked you so vehemently, wasn’t it? Could she not…disguise herself?

>>4446860
>It was a fair bit too familiar to dance with somebody that disliked you so vehemently, wasn’t it? Could she not…disguise herself?
Would be awkward to explain to Wladyslaw and Anya

>>4446923
>>4447138
>>4447146
Screw the politics and screw the weird ghost crap, you're going to dance with this dead little girl.

>>4447055
>>4447069
>>4447172
>>4447214
The idea of it is fine- but some basic hiding of who she is would be for the best...

Writing!

It wasn’t that you were disturbed by the idea of dancing with Emma- you could easily treat it as many in court did with relatives or close friends, despite Emma inhabiting a completely different body. That right there was the proper rub of it. You didn’t care, and you knew why you would dance with Emma, but nobody else did, most of all Anya and King Wladysaw. To them, this would seem completely out of nowhere. Worse, it would be utterly impossible to explain, and moreover wasn’t a good thing to go blabbing about anyways, considering that soulbinders hunted down entities like Emma for exactly this reason, presumably. Best to try and avoid that awkward conversation.

“Of course I can help you with that,” you first reassured Emma, whose look had become worried in a way you recognized as her’s, not Kamilia’s. “But, this woman and I have some…bad history. Could you possible try and disguise yourself?”

Emma frowned and pulled at her dress. Kamilia’s dress. “I liked this one, though…I don’t think everybody’s seen me in it. So much of her wardrobe isn’t very modest, either. Can I just get a party mask, maybe?”

“That should do, yes,” you said, “perhaps change your hair, as well?” A refrain from suggestions, but with hair the length Kamilia’s was, there was little to do with it. “Mostly, you should do away with the jewelry, that makes you stand out more than anything. Particularly the diadem,” you pointed to your forehead.

Emma frowned deeper, and touched the crown herself. “…She really doesn’t like the idea of doing that. She’s not in charge though. I am, and I want to dance. I’ll be right back out.”

“Just find me out in the flock,” you said with a wave, “Ideally before some other young thing preys upon me.”

“Well, I’m the youngest thing out there.”

“Please don’t say that,” you said with exasperation.

“…You promise, right?” Emma said quietly.

“It’s the least I could do, isn’t it?” you shrugged very slightly, “I think going against the Duchess’s personality should be a fair amount of disguise, don’t take too long. If anybody asks later, I’ll just feign being oblivious or stupid. Maybe both.” If Emma took long enough, Anya might drag Edelschwert out the door back out to the fair, and the more volatile of potential problems would therefore be solved.

“You’d do that?” Emma said aloud to nobody, “Okay, it might take a bit, though. I’ll be down there, I’ll find you. Nobody else is wearing a mask, right? Besides you.”

“Not as far as I know.”

Emma nodded, and turned right around. As a member of the royalty, she didn’t have access to her own home restricted like the guests did. Hence, more freedom of movement. Though you did hope she disguised herself decently enough- if your attempt to play stupid didn’t work, you’d be in trouble, especially with Anya- who you didn’t in particular want to deceive, but you had to in order to make good with Emma.

At least this was just a dance rather than some impossible mystical aspiration.

-----

Emma was late for when the dancing began- the ladies assailing you were particularly desperate just before, and they didn’t seem like opportunistic hussies, either. It was too late, though. Now, you could properly brush them off by saying you were waiting for somebody, and you wouldn’t even be lying or sounding rude by denying them for another reason.

You ought to remember that for next time, you thought to yourself.

King Waldysaw had called Anya forth, respectfully took her from Edelschwert with an ever so slight bend at the waist, responded with gusto by Edelschwert who made the full angle and a scrape of the foot as he handed off his date…if you dared to tease Anya by calling her that.

“Let me honor this young woman before you all, good ladies and gentlemen.” Wladysaw announced warmly to the crowd around as Anya looked distinctly uncomfortable. She was far from humble, but you guessed she wasn’t used to being made the focus of this sort of gathering. However, this was only proper to acknowledge, according to Wladysaw. “You may recall her bravery in foiling an attempt upon my life but last year, and she has fought in the field against both terror-fostering criminals and violent Twaryian raiders alike. Unusual for a lady, indeed, but one need only look at her to know she is not a typical woman, yes?” He turned to her, “If you may turn about?”

Anya did so, hesitantly. The sight of Anya’s back in that dress made you light headed- taut and corded with strength, but gracefully slim. Come on now, there’s no shame in admitting it. The whole room would agree.

Wladysaw put a hand out to direct attention. “Her scars are impossible not to notice, but look upon her back- not one struck from there. What truer sign of valor is there?” Ah. So that was the motivation behind the design, that was bare from the nape of the neck to just above her bottom. Would that make Anya warm up to it more? “The first dance, to the honorable Lady Nowicki. Musicians?”

So the band began to play- Anya was not anything better than a decent amateur at dancing, but Wladysaw was no stranger to dancing whatsoever, you could tell just by watching him for but a minute. He didn’t drag Anya around, but guided her as though pushing a railcar down a very artful track. She let herself by guided like a leaf in a gentle whirlwind, carried about with her dress’s skirt fluttering a trail behind like a flag. The band played a merry string-heavy tune, quick and light and energetic, but short, as it slowed down and the High Protector slowed with it as he twirled Anya into the center of the room as the cello and viola gave their final creaking words.

“I fear he’s ruined her for me,” Edelschwert lamented beside you as polite applause precipitated.

Anya did have a dizzy look on her face. You merely patted him on the back and stretched against a pillar, now looking about for Emma as some watched, others very eagerly getting to the dance. Wladysaw was freshly swarmed as he released Anya, going to give some compassion to the desperate bachelorettes seeking a place on the dance floor.

A couple of songs later, a tap finally came on your shoulder. You turned and were…briefly startled by a mask that looked like it came from a costume party, covering Emma’s upper face, lined with rhinestones and designed gaudily in the guise of a pair of abstract hands splayed over all but the eyes. Emma had also put in the extra effort to change dresses- you readily noticed this new dress was cut a few fingers lower on the bustline, and that it was likely designed to ride even lower, and Emma had also put on long gloves to further differentiate her look, and put her hair up into a tail. Would it be enough? Probably not for Wladysaw, but for anybody else…

“Hey, hey!” Emma in the Duchess’s body poked at you, “Let’s go!” She whispered, “This is good enough, isn’t it? I couldn’t find any less showy masks…”
“It’ll do,” you took her by the wrist, “Have you danced before?” She shook her head, no, “Don’t worry,” you tried to say with confidence, “I’ve done it before.” Once. More practice before you flung Maddalyn around, one day.

>Roll as many sets of 1d100 as desired. Higher is better. The more you do, the longer you dance for. If you roll below a 25 after the first, though, you’ve messed up enough to sort of screw the mood so it might not be best to try and salvage it after that…though Emma in particular may prove rather forgiving.
You’re a little better at dancing since your last time with Anya- 5 DC better even.

Rolled 3 (1d100)

>>4447585

Rolled 83 (1d100)

>>4447585

Rolled 47 (1d100)

>>4447585
Nat 1 please

>>4447586
>>4447589
>>4447589
My roll aside, these seem good enough? The longer we dance the more likely people might notice Kamillia after all.

>>4447593
Seems good to me. Rough start, impressive recovery, and then a segue into mediocrity.

Rolled 90 (1d100)

>>4447585
I'm sorry boys, I can't help myself.
I need to end things on a better note!

Rolled 8 (1d100)

>>4447585

>>4447711
You couldn't just let things end on a good note, huh?
>>4447687
I blame you for this.

>>4447711
Anon...
Can we just get the 90 and 8 to cancel each other out

>>4447718
I doubt Tanq would be that merciful.
The best we can hope for is that it will be fun and cute instead of horribly detrimental.
Richter and Emma are poppin off on the dance floor and then they both just trip over themselves completely. Have a little laugh about it.

>>4447586
I don't actually know how you could have rolled worse first.

>>4447589
While doing pretty great the second

>>4447590
Concluding average,

>>4447687
Pushing forward to great effect,

>>4447711
Before falling flat on your face.

If it's any consolation it isn't worse than the first thing anyways.

Writing.

>>4447726
For the pleasure of seeing Zohl’s face evaporate, I am willing to let the dice allow whatever level of ballroom buffoonery they desire.

>>4448020
Honestly if it wasn't for the whole mutilation thing this Ellowian adventure has actually been pretty successful for Richter and company. Losing his skills suck but at least they can be re-learned.

Sorry for the delay, I'm only just now functional. I'll have that thing out soon.

The blind leading the blind, you thought with a twinge of uncertainty as you led Emma out in the Duchess’s body. Just think of her as a teenage girl, you thought, you’re dancing with a younger cousin or something. Who really would have preferably dressed in a more modest fashion, but you couldn’t blame Emma for a completely different person’s taste in social attire.

The Duchess’s natural poise and Emma’s own uncertainty formed a puzzling stance, as you both went out on the floor and took a place. The Duchess had obviously done this countless times and the person inhabiting her was calling upon that memory and skill, but how many times had Emma done it? She was part of a family of Valsten high society socialites in life, but would her first time ever engaging in this properly be after she died? The least you could do was to not mess up her first time.

Then you felt your leg cramp up right around the wound that had all but vanished, right as the band started again.

“Are you okay?” Emma noticed immediately when your steps were more stumbles, and she failed to adjust properly.

“It’s fine,” you insisted as you took your hand off her waist to rub your thigh. You couldn’t very well stop in the middle of this.

Suddenly, you found out that you could, as your leg suddenly gave out entirely.

A flash of pain as you fell forward and smashed into the Duchess’s mask, straight into your nose, then clawed blindly and snagged on the dress as it failed to halt your descent right into the floor- your blurred vision cleared to see the mask of your dance partner lying beside you.

Shit.

“Ahh,” Emma stammered as she stared down at you, hiding her chest behind an arm- Judge Above, you did yank her dress as you fell down, didn’t you? “Ahh,” she glanced down at the mask, and her face turned a shade of panic, “Uh!” Immediately, she fled.

“Damn it all,” you muttered as you picked up the mask and chased after her.

She had retreated all the way back up to the third floor, you found out after a search that took far to damned long, and more than that, into a place you technically weren’t allowed in- a side parlor practically on the other side of the castle entirely, but the servant that obstructed you was called away by Emma right when she realized you were outside. The room was a typical looking reading room, with benches, shelves, tables of appropriately fancy quality- but the sides of the room were made up of vast arrangements of mirrors, tiled and patterned like stained glass windows.

She had fixed her wardrobe malfunction, thankfully, but she still had her face buried in her…well, the Duchess’s hands, as you walked in to sit beside her on the bench she was on.
“What the hell was that, she half spat and half sobbed.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ve never been so embarrassed in…” Emma paused, “…Feh. It’s not my body anyways, but it was still…and everybody saw, my face, her face, I mean, I,” She slid sideways and rested her head on the bench’s seat away from you. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have asked you for this.”

“I promise I’m not always that bad at this,” you tried not to feel attacked, but you were off the mark.

“No, you’re hurt, aren’t you? You’ve been for a while, but I just assumed I could ask whatever I wanted.” Emma mumbled from the bench, “I’m stealing this lady’s life and pushing around a wounded soldier so I can, what, dance? Pretend I’m a person? Pretend I’m this person?”

…You put a hand on Emma’s head. Nobody could see you here, anyways. You could treat her like the persons he was inside, the unfortunate sprite that you’d foolishly promised a second chance at something she’d have done anything to have again. “You’re being too hard on yourself. I told you to do this, remember? Kamilia Von Katski isn’t a nice person. You…aren’t her. Even if you embarrassed yourself, you’ve kept her from doing bad things. She had her goons beat Anya into a pulp. I’m not sorry for her at all. Maybe she needs to be taught some humility, even.”

“Her pride is all she has, really,” Emma said in an empty tone as you pet her head, “All the jewels, the power, it’s something her family didn’t have when she was little…and it’s something they died for, because their own kin wanted it just as badly. The only reason she’s not dead is because the man who’s king now saved her from his own branch of the family, and she thinks it’s because of her possessions. She knows people are only interested in either her wealth, or her body…and she’s internalized that.”

Emma’s continued sympathy for your enemies was puzzling, but… “I tell you how she’s despicable, and you defend her?” you hadn’t taken your hand off her head, “You’re rather too nice, despite your attitude sometimes.”

“What attitude?” Emma was too sullen to snap properly.

“That’s more like it,” you took your hand off her head and got up, grabbing her arm and tugging her upwards. She was limp as a sack. “Come on,” you urged her, “I need to redeem myself, and I need your help for that.”

“Leave me here,” Emma whined as she refused to move, “This has to be a sign, doesn’t it? I’m not meant to be going this, I just ruin things for everybody…”

“No.” That was all the answer you bothered to give as you put one arm behind her back and the other up her legs and picked her up bodily. You really hoped this wasn’t what having a daughter might be like.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you back out so you can dance.”

“You can’t carry me, you’ll look improper in front of…everybody!”

“I don’t really care,” you said flatly as you headed for the door with this lump of unwilling royal flesh in hand, the additional teenage girl inside thankfully not making her any heavier. “Who cares, what are they going to do, burn the other half of my face off?”

“Fine, alright!” Emma’s snap reached proper severity, “Put me down, I’ll go! Damn…” You let her down, and she took her mask from you properly. “You’re a nut, you know that?”
“I act when it is necessary,” you declared defiantly. And you had a lot to make up for. “Are you sure there aren’t any dresses with straps you could put on?”

“No,” Emma said as she brushed herself off, “She likes nothing on the shoulder, that’s for sure. Though, if I looked like her…” She turned in front of a wall of mirrors with an envious look on her face, “She’s gorgeous, and busty, I’d want to look the best, too.”

“Well, there’s much better in the Blumlands in Strossvald.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma snorted, “You don’t need to pull another sort of muscle trying too hard on that, not when I’m in the same room at least.” She let you take her by the wrist again, “…Do you think they’ll…think less of me? You did just yank my boobs out, and I know they saw me without that mask…”

“Who cares.” You weren’t about to be stopped at this point as you tugged her back out the door, “I said I would dance with you.” It wasn’t like this situation could get worse. Not at the event itself, at least.

Back out you went, though there had been two songs since you left. A quick look around for Edelschwert and Anya- you didn’t see them, and wondered if Anya had just pulled Edelschwert out the door as soon as the first song was over. It might be better that way, even. Certainly for you and Emma.

One hand on her waist, other hand on Emma’s. A deep breath, as your leg still protested, but after that last embarrassment you weren’t about to show the poor girl a bad time.
The instrumentalists began anew in a steady, slow piano waltz. Thank goodness- something simple and easy to dance to. You got more used to the feeling of moving Emma around, what she reacted well to, how she preferred to move, and you recalled how Wladysaw moved- how he made it look as effortless as an artist drawing brush across canvas- and felt that, maybe, you could do just as well simply moving and letting Kamilia’s experience mesh with your energy.

It was a gradual thing, but Emma’s doubtful look turned to pleasant surprise, then a broad smile. Something that suited Kamilia’s face far better than the cruel sneer she usually seemed to wear.

The song came to a properly satisfying end, even if you had barely appreciated it more than as a sound to set tempo by. Emma was happy, and that was what your goal had been more about anyways. Though, as everybody arranged themselves for what was announced to be lanes to travel down and traverse, you noticed the looks- the suspicion, the judgment.

Your focus was spoiled, so your performance as you went down the trail like rain sliding down roof shingles, a jolly ditty being played with woodwind, was merely mediocre. Emma noticed it too- not the other people, but that your attention was clearly not on her.

“If you’re tired,” Emma said uncertainly, “We can stop. I had fun, it’s fine…a lot of people are bleeding off anyways.”

Fine? What sort of finish would that be? No, you took her by the wrist and shook your head. It didn’t take much for her to understand you were staying out here until she was smiling again.

You were sure it wouldn’t take long, as you assumed a place in a circle of pairs, that would go out, and in, through a daunting movement that would look like a work of art from the above floors. The fear in the novice dancer was apparent in Emma- but you knew that Kamilia knew plenty well how to do this.

“Aren’t you new at this too?” Emma whispered as you assumed your places, “I don’t know about this…”

“You know how to do this,” you hoped to get your meaning across, despite your lack of knowledge of how any of this possession nonsense worked. It was just something you could feel, something that your senses told you wasn’t entirely puppetry. “Just…do it.”

To her credit, once the music began and you began the dance, she did. To a shocking degree- Kamilia was an aggressive dancer, and though you were supposed to direct your partner around and about the circle, most of the time you were being pulled around much like how you imagined Wladysaw pulled Anya about, but more of a case where you would be prompted rather than moved yourself. Arrogance took over- you both began to orbit the circle, and then weave inside of it, and Judge Above it was a blast.

“You know,” you breathed after you had bowed to one another with the song’s energetic climax that had taken you to the center, atop a compass patten in the ballroom’s tiles, “You’re quite a natural at this.”

“You flatter me,” Emma said in the Duchess’s voice, though that smile was no act. She took you by the hand again, “I hope that wasn’t the best you had?”

After that energetic performance, your leg was burning with pain, and you felt lightheaded from it, but you did your best to smile back and say, “Of course it wasn’t, milady.”

Only a few seconds later your body tired before your bravado did, and in an attempt to take the initiative, the same bad leg fouled up just the same as it had before. You saw history repeat in your mind, and kept your arms stiff at your sides…your ankle twister, and you knocked into Emma before falling over and smashing your face right on the floor.

“Ah!” Emma crouched down to help you roll over, “Are you all right?”

Your only response was a harsh cough, and you were thankful that you were carried away, even if you no doubt looked laughable. Your ankle, though…that didn’t feel good at all. You didn’t injure yourself dancing, did you? Judge above.

-----

A few rooms away, you rested on a bench, Emma next to you as a servant poked at your leg to make sure nothing was too hurt.

“Do not put weight upon it,” he concluded as he applied a splint and tied it, “I will return with a crutch.”

“Ah, that won’t be necessary-“ you tried to say, but the servant was already away.

“…For what it’s worth,” Emma said softly, “I did have a lot of fun. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“I don’t think it was worth spraining your ankle over.”

“Nonsense.” Maybe it wasn’t, but it would have been a sacrifice made in vain if it upset Emma.

“You know,” Emma had a faraway look, “You should dance with Hilda like that. I think that would make her really, really happy.” You didn’t say anything to that. There wasn’t anything you could say. “Well,” she got up, “The King’s down at the end of the hall there. I’ll see what he wants.”

“He is?” you nearly bolted up, but a shooting pain forced you back down again as Emma left you. Her conversation with Wladysaw was…mercifully short, though he had a suspicious tilt to his eyebrows as he spoke with her, searched her eyes…Ellowie was a place of spiritual power, was Wladysaw sensitive enough to notice the change in eye color? No, just because he was an Ellowian didn’t mean he was spiritually sensitive, Anya was as blind as a bat when such was involved, after all.

Emma returned, not looking like there was anything to worry about. “He wants to speak with you.”

“Concerning?”

“Business, it sounded like. He didn’t say you had to talk right away, just that you should sometime tonight.” Emma didn’t sit back down. “Though…I don’t think we should be around each other any more tonight. Maybe not after the…mask came off. But, I, I appreciate that you stuck with it still, even when I didn’t want to do it anymore.” She took a few steps, “There’s a street fair outside, maybe I could dress in something more normal and go out and see…”

>Wladysaw wanted to talk. Why keep him waiting? So long as he didn’t want to dance too.
>Insist that Emma stay a bit. You had more to talk about (About what?)
>You had spent enough time at this ball. Once you could walk safely again, you were going out to that street fair. Maybe finding Anya again.
>Other?

>>4449296
>Wladysaw wanted to talk. Why keep him waiting? So long as he didn’t want to dance too.

>>4449296
>Wladysaw wanted to talk. Why keep him waiting? So long as he didn’t want to dance too.

>>4449296
>Wladysaw wanted to talk. Why keep him waiting? So long as he didn’t want to dance too.
Talk first,then we can head to the fair

>>4449296
>>Wladysaw wanted to talk. Why keep him waiting? So long as he didn’t want to dance too.
If Wladysaw asks about the dancing, tell him it was a minor issue we dealt and ask him as one man to another to not press further. Hopefully he is too busy a man to investigate what sort of petty dispute or coercion must have been used to drive us to make a fool or ourselves twice in public.
It is also at this time I would like to remind everyone that once upon a time being forced to touch a boob was so antithetical to Richter's personality that it broke down 5% of his IO brainwashing integrity.

>>4449296
>Wladysaw wanted to talk. Why keep him waiting? So long as he didn’t want to dance too.

>>4449296
>>Wladysaw wanted to talk. Why keep him waiting? So long as he didn’t want to dance too.
>Other?
Emma should go change into something for the outdoors and we can meet her out there.

>>4449296
>Wladysaw wanted to talk. Why keep him waiting? So long as he didn’t want to dance too.

>>4449317
second

>>4449302
>>4449304
>>4449308
>>4449311
Talk to the King, excuse your bad dancing as being a matter two men can understand implicitly.
>It is also at this time I would like to remind everyone that once upon a time being forced to touch a boob was so antithetical to Richter's personality that it broke down 5% of his IO brainwashing integrity.
Or because it was a Republican boob

>>4449306
>>4449317
>>4449791
Then take your ghost girl out to the street fair.

Operation "My fiancee will have a conniption if she finds out" is a go. Writing.

“I’ll talk to him,” you told Emma, “Wait some after you change, I’ll go with you to the fair outside.”

“…Really?” Emma looked back, then away again. “…No, you’re just asking to get in trouble at that point.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion.”

“Oh yeah?” Emma turned around and put a hand on her hip, “Then you won’t have any trouble finding me, will you? You’d best keep your business quick if you’re thinking of catching me. Unless you trip over your own feet again.” Emma left you with that, and you weren’t sure if she was serious about this game or not- but you had a feeling you’d be able to “find” her easily.

As soon as the servant from before returned with an admittedly dignified looking singular crutch made of dark wood, that could be excused as a cane, you got up and got used to a clumsy gait, asking the servant to guide you to the High Protector. Walking with it made you feel gloomy- half a hand, half a face, how long until you were down a leg as well?

“Your majesty,” the servant bowed to Wladysaw after he had led you to him, in the dining hall were all manner of food had been laid out, both rustic and extravagant just from a glance at it all. The man was fond of his celebrations, certainly. “I have brought Sir Von Tracht.”

“Very good,” Wladysaw nodded, “You are dismissed.”

“Your majesty.”

Wladysaw was accompanied by men in gendarme uniforms, but of a decidedly fancier sort than was typical, as well as a woman in the same uniform- at a respectful distance, as to not imply anything, of course. Wladysaw was unescorted, and such was to be maintained, evidently.

“Von Tracht,” he swirled sparkling white wine in a glass flute, “I am glad that you are enjoying the festivities, of course, but we both know the question on my mind, do we not?”
You swallowed. “…Your majesty, beg pardon, but what is the question?”

“I have known my dear cousin since we were babes. I know her appearance, how she acts, what she values, and while she has been strange lately…” he tilted his head in inquiry, one hand behind his back, “I know she is not one to forget a grudge easily, even ones she has resolved. You will not deny awareness that you were dancing with her, will you?”

“…I did not know, your grace, but as one man to another, I request you not press this issue.”

“A bold request to make of his grace,” you could sense the threat in that tiny statement. “I can ask my dear cousin her own motivation later, but I feel it quite important to ask you now: did you intend to humiliate my cousin..?”

Reflexively, you bent at the waist, leaning hard on the crutch. “Of…of course not, your majesty, the humiliation is but…but mine to bear. It was truly an accident. My wound has still not healed fully…Forgive me.”

“Your majesty,” the lady gendarme began to say, “It is true that Lady Kamilia is fond of controversy-“ She shut up immediately when Wladysaw glared at her. Despite his foppishness, he still could exude such power, at least upon his subjects. What sort of man defied kingliness yet could act the part nevertheless?

“I accept your apology,” Wladysaw said slowly, “And I appreciate that you entertained her afterwards, in spite of your accident. I know not what smoothed over your relations so, but I shall not inflict upon your dignity by asking after what may be a subject of discomfort. I will know, however.” He began to walk out the other side of the hall. “Come. We have business to discuss in a more private setting.”

That hadn’t been the private business? Both dread and curiosity brewed within as you were escorted with the King to a room on the other side of the castle, but still upon the ground floor. It was a room entirely of dark woods, red and black and brown, with no windows or any way in besides the door you entered, a long table in the center. The King and the Gendarmes all sat at it, and you followed, albeit more slowly.

“…It truly was an accident, your majesty,” you felt the need to say.

“Von Tracht, please, I have no reason to think you would deceive me on that subject,” Wladysaw said tiredly, “It is certainly true that my dear cousin acts in ways that are untoward quite often. I would just rather her not be up to anything concerning you, and of course, the other way round.”

“I would never, your majesty.”

“Such is petty drama, however, compared to the reason I wished to meet with you tonight.” Wladysaw knitted his fingers together on the table. “Gentlemen. Tonight, an operation referred to as Alpha Two begins.”

You choked. “What? Tonight?”

“Tonight.” Wladysaw said firmly, “Not a stage that we would witness, however. The initial steps are taking place in Sosaldt, and the stage that will affect us directly will take place in…most likely two days. I would suggest that you handle your affairs by then, or do whatever it is your own masters would intend you to do. When the day after tomorrow comes, you will not likely be able to move easily at all whether Strossvald wishes it or not.”

“I just didn’t expect the news to be so sudden,” you rested your chin on the back of your good hand, “Judge Above, two days?”

“The security of it would have been quite poor if you knew before I did,” Wladysaw said with a satisfied slow smile. “These are my Gendarme masters.” He gestured to the crimson uniformed trio sitting with both of you, “They will take anything off of your hands that you choose to relinquish to them, be it men or materiel.”

“…Do you have enough? Surely you are not planning to act on the very day of Alpha Two?” you asked this carefully, still flicking an eye to the door.

“Of course not,” Wladysaw laughed, “No, of course not. That would be entirely too bold, but there will be chaos, and that will be the time we have to make properly ready, and we do have more than one might assume- you must have noticed some unusual guests?” You nodded. “I will not name the examples, but let us say that there are those not fond of the honored Defense Party. A house divided against itself cannot stand, I believe was the phrase that my ancestor spoke of? The Defense Party may believe us quite divided and themselves having forged themselves into a whole, but they will prove twice wrong, methinks.”

This…was much to take in. You had suspected Maenesko of disapproving of his masters, but was he so much so that he had plotted rebellion? How long had such feelings brewed? Was his transfer, you began to think, even something that had been unplanned for, if there were enough dissenting elements to threaten the ruling party, albeit with help from others.

“You appear to be overwhelmed, Von Tracht,” Wladysaw said, humored, “Surely you did not think you were the only one hard at work?”

“I…might have been led to believe such.” It was often your presumption, to be frank, considering how little you were informed on the Archduchy’s other affairs here.

“And I’m afraid you still won’t be privy to everything,” Wladysaw lamented, “though I may be tempted to share some things, if you tell me but one of your plans…do you intend to stay, knowing this, or will we be bidding farewell to one another after tonight?”

That wasn’t something you were sure of. The Major probably knew Alpha Two was beginning, and as your direct superior, the question of when you were leaving wasn’t yours to answer. She did imply you wouldn’t be staying in the country for Alpha Two- yet, what if you volunteered to stay..?

>You spent quite a long time here, you wouldn’t be just leaving, would you? No, you’d be staying a decent while longer, regardless of the risk.
>The part you had to play here was finished, it sounded like. Apologize to Wladysaw, but this was not your war.
>Other?

>>4450210
If we're joining up with the Lances does it count as the first option?

>>4450211
It would not, no.

>>4450212
>>4450210
Alright then:
>The part you had to play here was finished, it sounded like. Apologize to Wladysaw, but this was not your war.
Joining up with the Lances sounds better though if anons want to stay I'm happy with it as well. Just tell him even if we're leaving after this we'll still be helping out overall and wish him luck.

>>4450210
>>The part you had to play here was finished, it sounded like. Apologize to Wladysaw, but this was not your war.

>>4450210
>You spent quite a long time here, you wouldn’t be just leaving, would you? No, you’d be staying a decent while longer, regardless of the risk.

>>4450210
>>The part you had to play here was finished, it sounded like. Apologize to Wladysaw, but this was not your war.
Unless it is, but with cooler friends.

>>4450210
>The part you had to play here was finished, it sounded like. Apologize to Wladysaw, but this was not your war.
Maybe we'll meet at the victory party though

>>4450210
>The part you had to play here was finished, it sounded like. Apologize to Wladysaw, but this was not your war.
Good ol' Richter, backing out of the conflict before he has a chance to die a war hero or save a princess.

>>4450223
I'll stick around for an extended vacation.

>>4450220
>>4450223
>>4450343
>>4450373
>>4450488
The next train out I'm taking and not going back.

Writing.

>>4450210
>The part you had to play here was finished, it sounded like. Apologize to Wladysaw, but this was not your war.
Fucking marry Maddy already! She doesn't deserve this!

“I’m sorry, but the part I have to play here is finished,” you told Wladysaw, “I’ve helped you, but this isn’t my war, nor that of any of my men.”

“Ah well,” Wladysaw’s smile didn’t leave his face, “I thought it worth a try, but my answer was worn on your body all along, was it not? I’m afraid, though, that means I needn’t take away from your time any longer. For what it is worth, tonight is a quiet night, a time of relaxation despite the recent chaos. Stay as long as you like, partake of this fair city’s hospitality. May it not be the last happy time it has in my reign.”

“Long live the king,” you said with reverence, as you got up. “Perhaps I can attend the victory party.”

“I can only hope.”

You left the king and his men…and thought about what the coming times might hold as you were guided back by a servant. Would Wladysaw truly be allowed to remain king by the returning Ellowian army? Did the Republic have a chance of surviving with the liberation of the country being done by the military? After all, they had been given an opportunity to take the head of what was left of the country, and the people who remained in Ellowie included many who lost faith in the Republic, but might wait for the army. You didn’t consider yourself a particularly political person, but it was something many people of the country were concerned about. Perhaps Signy as well, for the offense she took at a Republic being felled. Would her part in this influence the country’s future? Maybe that was what she hoped, judging from her plans and actions.

Maybe it wasn’t any of your concern, you thought as you limped out the castle doors, the crutch clunking along the stone tiles as you stubbornly made your way down and out towards the fair. Have your fun tonight, then tomorrow, get out as quickly as you could, whatever way had been planned for you. Or make your own way out. Either way.

-----

The last lights of dusk were shining over the tops of the city’s squat buildings when you went out, but the lights and fires you remembered Edelschwert mentioning were bright enough that it may as well have been daytime all about the streets where the fair were still in full swing. On one section, on both sides of the street, there were great ale kegs on the backs of wagons that faced each other, with drinking contests being begun and ended on either side- that the places next to them were portable privies and a fighting ring were only natural. You expected to see Anya there, in some bare knuckle brawl, stripped to the waist but for an undershirt, but you remembered that she was in a dress that didn’t tolerate having anything worn on the torso besides itself- and she wasn’t around there anyways. Pity, it seemed like just her thing.

You had honestly expected to find Anya and Magnus before Emma, but it turned out that a woman the Duchess’s height wearing a hood stuck out to a surprising degree- most of the people here might have had cloaks or coats, but not hoods. Moreover, this woman stuck out even more because she was among children and young teens, and their parents…watching a puppet show. The subject was of a wandering fellow climbing a mountain, and the performer, predictably enough, was a Vyemani. Such mysticism was their bread and butter after all.

“I thought you were a little old for this,” you murmured to Emma as you sat beside her.

“Shh!” she shooshed you roughly before turning her attention back to the storyteller.

“…The goat trotted by the wanderer, and the wanderer asked,” the puppeteer moved the two paper figures to one another over a background of stone and moss, “Herr Goat, how much further to the top of the mystical mountain? I wish to drink the water at the top and become enlightened. The Goat told him, Herr Wanderer, you will climb forever and never reach the top. If you are thirsty, then I can show you a brook to drink from, and you can go back down the mountain. The Wanderer said back to the Goat, I have already climbed so far, how could I go back down now?”

This sort of thing wouldn’t have been entertaining to you before you were the age Emma had likely been, but when you coughed for her attention, she glared at you before turning her eyes back to the puppet show. If she was enjoying herself, you supposed…

It was quite a dry tale, until it took a grisly turn where the wanderer betrayed the goat and killed it, eating its flesh so he could have the strength to continue to the top. It was a twist that made all the younger children gasp…and Emma too. Something you’d have to mock her for later.

Ultimately, at the end of the story, the wanderer did reach the top of the mountain, but when he drank from the spring, he turned into a goat.

“That was a fun story,” Emma said to you as you were walking again.

It absolutely wasn’t. It was stupid. “Sure. Did you want to buy any food?” Emma was rather too young to drink, and you didn’t want her drunk anyways, in case it inhibited her control.
“…No, I can’t eat,” Emma pouted, “I mean, I could, but the withdrawals…make the body feel very sick. I’m fine, but if I eat the kind of stuff around here, I don’t think it’ll go well.”

“I see.” You didn’t really, but you trusted Emma’s knowledge on this.

“What did the k…he, I mean. What did he talk to you about?”

You shook your head, it wasn’t something you could speak of in the open. You could say the gist of it, though. “We’ll be leaving tomorrow. Will you be coming with us?”

Emma stopped, and you turned to face her. “…I…” she hesitated, “I don’t think I can. Since I’m…doing this, I mean. I decided, that in exchange, I’d leave…here. I’d leave here a better person, I mean. So I can’t come with you.” She looked at her feet. “I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t what you had wanted to hear, but you nodded. “Alright. I just didn’t want you to feel forgotten, like I did before.”

“You’re doing a lot better now,” Emma said encouragingly, stepping beside you again, “I’ll try and find you after, but…I have to do this. After I’ve done so much to take from others, because I felt I didn’t have what I deserved. What was my right.” She suddenly snapped her head up. “…Is that glühwein? I smell it from down there!”

“I thought you said you didn’t feel well.”

“I can have a little,” Emma whined, “Do you know how it feels to taste things? I haven’t had it in…in years, so I’m having it!”

Fine, fine. So long as she let you water it down with something else.

-----

A familiar rowdy accent rang over the crowd, and you noticed Emma fade away from you without warning. Really? You couldn’t blame her, you supposed, but you wished she would have let you give her a proper send off. Maybe she had figured it had been the time you’d shown her around the fair. The mulled wine, the fair games, betting on living stone fights (whichever one flipped the other was the victor- rather silly and goofy animal fights, and a spectacle for children more often than not), she even insisted on a bonfire-ring dance, where her hood fell off, but she was so involved that she didn’t even notice until you were through.

It had made you glad to see her enjoying herself so much, considering how sad her existence had been- but, back to that accent that came right from the gutters of Strosstadt despite its owner having lived nowhere near such a place.

“Hey, there ‘e is!” Anya surged up to you, “You’ve got some…some explainin’ to do!”

“Lady Nowicki,” Edelschwert held her back, “Pardon, Von Tracht, she has had a fair bit to drink-“

“You’d know if I was drunk, captain queer boots,” Anya snipped at Edelschwert, “Hey, don’t stare at me gawking, what were you doin’ with that thing?”

Oh, may the Lord of Order spare you from this injustice. “I’m sorry.”

“Would you knock it off with the apologizing?” Anya grabbed your collar and let it go, “I’m not mad, I’m just confused as all hell!”

>You don’t have enough alcohol in you to say. Anya’s not drunk yet, but it’s about time that changed.
>Promise you’ll tell her the truth- later. Then do that, the whole truth, even if she absolutely won’t believe a word of it.
>Claim you were doing it to protect her and keep the Duchess out of her hair- technically a lie, but it’d be something more plausible than saying you were trying to make a ghost happy.
>Other?

>>4450679
>Other?
Laugh and tease her about being jealous. Surely nothing can go wrong.

>>4450679
Did you really think this wouldn't happen, anons? This shit was preordained.

>Other?
The Duchess is high as a kite, she didn't recognize us, forced herself upon us and dragged us all around the fair with definitely impure intent. Ask Anya to stay on the lookout for her while we hide.

>>4450679
>Claim you were doing it to protect her and keep the Duchess out of her hair- technically a lie, but it’d be something more plausible than saying you were trying to make a ghost happy.
The implication was made once that those who can't perceive spirits are better off not doing so for one reason or another. So just this once I think we can get away with a little lie.
Also god damn it I'm gonna miss Emma, cause there's no way she isn't gonna end up hurting a lot of people or being hunted down and killed before she does. We've basically planted a doomsday time bomb in the king's court and we have no means of knowing when or even if it'll explode. We haven't seen Yva in a little while have we? Maybe the situation will resolve itself with minimal hassle, but I desperately hope Richter was able to show Emma a good time and that whatever comes of the Duchess is something Emma won't be too upset about, because I don't think the powers that be, whether it be Wizards or fate itself, will abide by Emma's continued existence much longer or Richter's if she becomes whatever a Blaze evolves into and pulls a Demiphantom or worse.
This whole situation is fucked beyond belief.
I regret nothing. I probably will soon.

>>4450679
>>4450716
>>4450709
Oh nevermind, this is a way better explanation.

>>4450679
Supporting >>4450709. Also I didn't vote for going with Emma but whatever, the outcome's not that bad.
Also better make sure Anya doesn't get too wasted if we're leaving tomorrow.

>>4450679
This, >>4450709 but do it in a quieter place to reveal the Duchess's addiction.

Also tanq will there be another last minute stuff to do before we leave vote? Even though we're leaving IMO we should at least settle the issue of our Ellowian platoons.

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>>4450709
Supporting
Anya, help! We're defenseless and at the mercy of a chemically unbalanced woman. Surely you're not so burdened by spirits as to abandon us in our hour of need.

>>4450679
>Promise you’ll tell her the truth- later. Then do that, the whole truth, even if she absolutely won’t believe a word of it.
Maybe not all the details about Emma and such, but at least try to explain that the duchess has been possessed by a ghost. If Anya doesn't buy it at all we can still truthfully tell Anya the duchess at least said she was sharing a body with another person and was a hopeless opium addict.
Basically if Anya isn't having any of this spooky nonsense, lean into >>4450709 as an explanation.

>>4450679

>>4450696
>>4450709
Combination of these

>>4450696
"Please punch me"

>>4450709
>>4450717
>>4450723
>>4450749
>>4450760
Help, I'm being assailed by an opium addict- who's absolutely blitzed on mulled wine.

>>4451049
Hey, do you believe in ghosts?

>>4451077
Hey, do you believe in punching me?

Writing.

>>4450723
>Also I didn't vote for going with Emma but whatever, the outcome's not that bad.
Sorry, I figured there was enough support behind that decision to not necessitate a revote on what to do next, but I'll try to gauge that better in future.

>>4450749
>Also tanq will there be another last minute stuff to do before we leave vote? Even though we're leaving IMO we should at least settle the issue of our Ellowian platoons.
You'll have the span of a day to handle things, yes. Depending on your method of egress, should it come to that. Not a lot of time, but time still.

“It’s…actually quite simple,” you came up with an excuse on the spot, that wasn’t all that implausible. It was at least something Anya could believe. You’d rather not lie to her, but if you talked some bull shit about ghosts, then she might actually think you were lying, and badly. “That woman,” you avoided bringing up her name or title in this public setting. A matter of common sense. “She’s an opium addict. She was high as a kite, and she didn’t recognize me with this mask, this uniform, she forced herself on me and dragged me all about, with absolutely impure intent. I’ve slipped away, but I need your help keeping hidden, if you could?” You made a show of leaning on your crutch, “I’m defenseless, after all.”

Anya squinted at you, then leaned to the side to look past you. “…She do anything to you?”

“Not yet.”

“Good. I’ll bash her face in, she comes close, alright?”

“Please don’t.” You regretted the lie now.

“Only if she comes close, sheesh,” Anya pouted at you, “Hide? Seriously? Even if I wanted to, how well are you gonna hide with that mask and the goober suit?”

“It is not a goober suit,” you defended your uniform’s honor.

“You look way better in leather, I bet even the midget would agree on that. Man, did you see that fight ring, though? Hey, Mag, you wanna see me shred somebody tonight?”

“Ah,” Edelschwert didn’t expect that question, “I doubt there will be many women that want to enter that ring-“

“Women? Pfft,” Anya blew a dismissive raspberry, “Who’d want to fight a chick? Most of the ones I fight just bitch out when you sock them once. They’re no fun at all. I’d fight a dude.”
“I do not think so,” Edelschwert replied before you could, “Not if your ribs are in a state where brushing against them hurts you.”

“I’ll hurt you,” Anya said in some coy mockery of an actual threat, then she got an idea. “Hey, how about it? You want to fight? Richter and I’ve been so beaten up for so long that I haven’t had a sparring partner in ages, if I get any rustier I’ll start fallin’ apart.”

Edelschwert frowned, glanced at Anya, then at you. “Is she always like this, Von Tracht?”

“No.” Anya cut in.

“Yes.”

“Piss off.” Anya pushed past you, “I’m going to get girly braid wasted, maybe he’ll fight then.”

“You’d best not,” you said, following her clumsily, “We’re going to be leaving tomorrow, I can’t have you hung over.”

The blonde fluff halted. “Tomorrow?” She echoed quietly, barely audible above the commotion of the fair, before she whirled about, “You could have said that sooner, couldn’t you?” She jabbed a finger into your chest.

“It came up recently.”

“Damn it all,” Anya reached back and snagged Edelschwert’s jacket, “Come on, you, there’s no time to lose!”

-----

Anya might have been your retinue, but she only took orders when she felt like it. The command to not get drunk was ignored, but at least she didn’t get blackout drunk. No matter how she tried though, Edelschwert refused to fight her. She jabbed at him, grabbed him, stole his sash, but he wouldn’t budge to the point that a passing Gendarme tried to apprehend the belligerent intoxicated woman.

Anya took this chance to have the fight she wanted, and the female Gendarme was utterly unprepared for it.

“Hee heh hah,” Anya cackled as she was dragged along by Edelschwert down another alley, “What’d I tell ya? Didn’t stand a chance, one foot to the jaw, they’re seein’ stars, even in these dumb heels. Can’t wait to get my boots back on. That duchess slut didn't show her face again either, good she knows better, heh.”

“Von Tracht,” Edelschwert looked like he really needed a rest, and a bath, his eyes heavier than they had been just some minutes ago, “Perhaps you should not have given Lady Nowicki an excuse to assault local law enforcement.”

“They should’a trained better!” Anya declared loudly, “I’ll take two ‘n one!”

“It was time to head back anyways,” you muttered, “May as well be chased out I suppose.”

“Huh? Wait, no,” Anya slurred her speech, “No’ yet. I wanna dance s’more, like we did by the fire.”

“You should have asked that before you kicked a gendarme police officer in the head,” Edelschwert gave his particularly wise advice. She’d made him drink about as much as she did, but Edelschwert was better than either of you at holding his liquor- or his sense of restraint was just that ingrained into him.

“C’moooon,” Anya grabbed him by the wrist and tried to pull him off, but his balance was better than hers at that time. “Oohf.”

“Why here?” Edelschwert thought fast, “Can you not dance on the train, or back at camp?”

“Huh? What’s the poin’ if it ain’t in the mess?”

Magnus looked at her long and hard, then at you. “I know that you said that you were departing tomorrow,” he said steadily, “But you do not mind if I escort your Retinue for a touch longer, do you? I can do my best to smooth matters with the gendarmes, and you’ve likely spent yourself for the night. I will return her to you after we’ve embarked.”

>She was your retinue, and thus your responsibility. Turn this around on him- you’d take her back to the fair, and he could get some rest, or handle other business he surely needed doing.
>No, it was time to leave here, and not come back until the gendarmes were more amicable to your return. You’d spent plenty of time here as it was.
>Alright- you trusted him with your retinue. If he was one minute late, though, you’d have his head.
>Other?
Also-
>What do you want to get started on wrapping up tomorrow?

>>4451285
>>>Alright- you trusted him with your retinue. If he was one minute late, though, you’d have his head.

>What do you want to get started on wrapping up tomorrow?
Inform Wielzci’s of whats coming down the pipe. Its the least we could do.

>>4451285
>Alright- you trusted him with your retinue. If he was one minute late, though, you’d have his head.
In b4 he tries to take advantage of Anya

>>4451285
>Alright- you trusted him with your retinue. Have fun you two!

>What do you want to get started on wrapping up tomorrow?
Make sure all our stuff gets packed, tanks ready for transport or scuttling if we have to leave them, last checkup with the Ashes, figure out somewhere more permanent to put our Twaryian prisoner that we stashed in an apartment or something.

Where did we put that pic of Maddy we got from Metzeler? Make sure we have that if we haven't already. We should also probably check on our Company Commander buddy whose name escapes me, say goodbye and everything. Do we want to try to convince him to come back and take control of the Company, or would we rather have him replaced with a nobody from the Defense Party we wouldn't mind fighting?

>>4451322
We should also figure out transport out of country for our Iron Hogs.

>>4451285
>>Alright- you trusted him with your retinue. If he was one minute late, though, you’d have his head.
>>What do you want to get started on wrapping up tomorrow?
Plan our method of extraction if the IO isn't providing one for us-maybe we can all fit into the combat cars and some spare trucks?

>>4451291
>>4451303
>>4451322
>>4451329
Let the man wander off with your creampuff. Presumably to apologize to the Gendarmes for blatant unprovoked assault.
And then taking care of additional material.

Writing!

I have a bad feeling that talking goat story might be prophetic

“Alright,” you gave a reluctant last glance at Anya- could you really tear her away when she was enjoying herself, after all the misery she’d put herself through for your sake? “I trust you with the care of my retinue. If you are one minute late past midnight, however, I will have your head.” A pause. “…Have fun.”

“Ooh, you heard him, ridin’ boots,” Anya yanked on Edelschwert’s braid, “Gonna get your ass beat.”

“I feel like I am being accused of being a rake,” Edelschwert said heatedly, “Rest assured, Von Tracht, I intend to be an escort, not a date. You needn’t fear your trust has been misplaced with the care of your dear friend.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re on the clock, y’know,” Anya harshly reminded Edelschwert before snatching out a hand and whacking him across the rear. "Heh heh." After that snicker at him jumping, she paused and stepped backwards to poke you. “Hey. You gonna be alright goin’ back alone? Sure you don’t wanna come with?”

“I have a lot to take care of.”

“Well, you’re at least not going to the station by yourself,” Anya took your arm, “Man, you know, you could probably take on Mag, you’ve gotten bigger’n him.”

“You are rather set on this idea of pitting us against one another,” Magnus said unappreciatively.

“For fun!” Anya said defensively, “C’mon, we’ll get him there faster if we each take a shoulder instead of makin’ ‘im walk with a stick.”

-----

“Did y’really have to go up to that same person and apologize for me?” Anya complained, the alcohol having faded from her system, replaced by the wooziness of a long night. Her already clingy dress had stuck to her with sweat, despite the cold, and being under her jacket made her feel like she a red hot boiler. “She ought to have been thankful that I taught such a good lesson.”

“You thought it not worth apologizing yourself,” Edelschwert shot back, “You really are a child of the badlands, aren’t you.”

“I’m the child of the greatest man to ever live,” Anya corrected. “If I can’t be of his blood, I’ll be of his legacy.” They had gone right out from Edelschwert apologizing profusely to the local guardhouse, back out to the night fair, and danced until Anya couldn’t ignore the stitches in her sides from getting beaten like a rug. “Hey,” Anya muttered quietly as they parted from the crowd, “I wasn’t too much a pain in the ass, was I?”

“Tonight, or in all the time we have gotten to know each other?”

“Tonight, smartass.”

“Well.” Edelschwert scratched his chin, “I would hardly be known as the man I am today if I was opposed to adventure. I haven’t boasted of it often, but my men and I have had times where we may as well have lived in Sosaldt. Some were comfortable waiting over the border, but allowing an enemy respite is to surrender the initiative.”

“I’m gonna take that as a compliment,” Anya decided aloud. “…You gonna be alright here once we’re gone?”

They had gone into quiet streets now, and Edelschwert gave a long and heavy sigh. “Likely not. Days are coming where what will be demanded of my men and I will be beyond what we have ever done before. We may find our limits in this test.”

“You could leave, y’know.” Anya suggested lightly, guessing at what he referred to, but not revealing a word of what she knew. She guessed that Edelschwert already assumed she knew, anyways.

“We could.” Edelschwert agreed, “But this is a fight for our nations’ souls, that has been a long time coming. To not participate in this battle would be antithetical to our very beings, all we have fought for, the beliefs we have kept in good times and bad. The hope that the dark hours would be coming to an end.”

“Huh. Good luck with that, then.” Anya shrugged.

“I rather thought you might object,” Edelschwert said, confusion leaking into his voice.

“I don’t really like it, but I think that the very least anybody ought’a be allowed is fighting the fights they want to fight, what with how many people don’t want to do, but gotta do anyways.” Anya said as they walked along, like she was reciting from memory, “I won’t fight doing something I don’t get nothin’ out of, but that’s only something for me, not other people. The way I see it, you can be part of a pack, but a wolf can’t live alone. You can be a pig, but a lot of days you’ll eat trash. You can be a seabird, but you’ll have to let the wind take you wherever.”

“Would you say that you’re a wolf, a boar, or a seabird?” Edelschwert asked.

Anya put her hands behind her head and looked up at the rising moon, “Dunno. I ripped that saying off from somebody smarter’n I am, but I liked the way it sounded. Guess I haven’t tried enough to say.” She turned her head to the long haired captain again, “Anyways, whatever you end up doing, be safe. There aren’t enough guys who can cook in the world.”

“There are plenty, I assure you,” Edelschwert chuckled, “But I’ll try and preserve my family’s recipes the best I can.”

-----

January 29 1933

Anya had come back right on time last night, and this morning, you thought she looked quite glad to be in her usual apparel again- though she didn’t seem like she disliked the slinky dress. You had taken notes even to make certain Maddalyn would find herself in something similar, with how the crown of the rump so often implied itself above that lowest dip in the dress- a razor’s edge.

You no longer needed the crutch, thank goodness, but you were still careful walking with how sore your leg and ankle still felt. Nobody was letting you do any work because of it combined with every other injury you’d sustained, and you weren’t certain whether to be relieved or feel bad about it. Not that there was an incredible amount to do.

The remaining Iron Hogs packed and prepared to leave as soon as you told them you were going to be off- without any ceremony whatsoever. They only asked that you sign a document releasing them, and they said they would just…drive off themselves. Fine then. It was less for you to take care of, though you had thought they might ask for more. Busy mercenaries, you could only assume. Perhaps they expected to see more of you later? They were hanging around for a little bit, though.

As for your own egress from the country, a missive had come for you last night, delivered to Von Metzeler (who seemed oddly morose). Simple enough- take a train right out of the country, to a private flight from the Netillian capital of Berkesseburg, back home…it was funny, that such a thing was how you’d leave. The benefits of a schedule, even if it meant you felt like you were leaving so much undone. Was this how the Intelligence Office always did things? Skittering off just before the true chaos began? Well, you wouldn’t exactly be skittering off, not if you went through with riding with the Silver Lances…whenever they became a part of this conflict coming up.

No instructions were given as to what to do with your tanks, both the ones brought from Strossvald and captured from Twaryi. The Intelligence Office clearly didn’t care what you would do with them, just that they weren’t going to bother bringing them back. Wladysaw did say he would have people come and pick up what you had left- but that didn’t mean you had to give everything over, potentially…

That left the question of your personal contacts here. The insurgents, you could just leave. The Ashes, you could trust Anya with cleaning up, and she’d ask for help if she felt she needed it. The company platoon leaders, however…how many of them would be fighting one another? Moreover, what had ever become of Kelwin? When you left, there would be no company commander…though you had no clue where Captain Kelwin had gone, and he’d made no attempt to contact you either. Presumably, the void in leadership would either be amended- or the resultant chaos coming up would disrupt things permanently. No way to no, and you weren’t staying to find out. Though you did have to let Wielzci at least know, didn’t you? Of all the leaders, he had been the most help to you no matter what the situation had been, and it was the least he deserved.

There was also the subject of that Twaryian prisoner. Krause might have disguised her, but he wasn’t going to be around any longer to be her minder. Should you just…escort her to the border? Leave her here and not have her be a problem? Cart her along with you for no adequately explored reason to hand over to the IO? That particular delusional mistake had not been a painful one, but it was certainly a bug still in the bed.

>Unless you have anything else in mind, these issues are what will be addressed-
-----
>How are you handling the tanks? Sabotaging them? Giving them to others? You can divide them up, if desired. You presently have the X-51, the X-52, the X-20, and a captured T-16.
>Are you finding/speaking with anybody in particular before you go? About what?
>How to finally permanently deal with this red headed short prisoner?
>Other things?
And yes, you do have that dour looking picture of what is most assuredly Maddalyn. Even if she is making a stern face, you’d know it anywhere, wouldn’t you.Also if I forgot anything I apologize.

>>4451667
>>How are you handling the tanks? Sabotaging them? Giving them to others? You can divide them up, if desired. You presently have the X-51, the X-52, the X-20, and a captured T-16.
Leave them as is. I regret not cross training some guys though. would have been nice to leave the tanks to them.

>>Are you finding/speaking with anybody in particular before you go? About what?
Inform Wielzci that were being pulled out, likely because the Ellowian army in exile is coming back soon and offer our contacts with the resistance.

>>Other things?
I'd like to transfer temporary command to Wielzci, but somehow I think that would paint a target on his back for the Komissariat or Netillian High Command.

>>4451667
>How are you handling the tanks?
Stow them in the garage, tell our Lieutenants that they'll eventually be collected by Net High Command. In reality we pass onto Wielzci where we left the keys and that the NLF could really use some shiny new tanks and commanders when shit hits the fan.

>How to finally permanently deal with this red headed short prisoner?
Someone give her a ride to the border, a lunchbox and send her on her way. No Zohl to worry about now.

>Are you finding/speaking with anybody in particular before you go? About what?
>Our Platoons
Let's do a final meeting with our company leaders, express our gratitude and satisfaction in their performances and congratulate them all on overcoming the differences between Netillians and Ellowians. Surely the bonds forged here will lead to a bright future of unity and cooperation between their peoples. Cheers to the brotherhood of the Midland Rangers! for another week or so
Explain that the Strossvalders are being recalled home likely for new deployments and that until a replacement is appointed, to maintain their patrols and keep an close eye on the Twaryians for anymore shenanigans.

>Maenesko
I dunno if we have time to meet, maybe a note wishing him luck and that we have the utmost confidence in our Ellowian units in watching out for him if he has any trouble wink wink, nudge nudge.

>>4451667
>How are you handling the tanks? Sabotaging them? Giving them to others? You can divide them up, if desired. You presently have the X-51, the X-52, the X-20, and a captured T-16.
Hand them over to Magnus, the Blue Knights will probably appreciate the additional firepower.
>Are you finding/speaking with anybody in particular before you go? About what?
I was thinking we officially release 4th and 6th to the Gendarmes, after all that's what the Combined Infantry program was for. Then quietly lead Wielzci aside and explain what's going down.
>How to finally permanently deal with this red headed short prisoner?
Leave her here, with all the chaos she can probably slip away later.

>>4451689
>Leave them as is
in the hands of the Netillians? No thank you.

>offer our contacts with the resistance.
ehhh, we should measure how he feels about the operation, if we tell him at all, before just giving him resistance contacts.

>transfer temporary command to Wielzci
probably not, that would give him less freedom to act when A-2 comes around.

>>4451728
+1 for redhead sendoff idea, but I don't think we should involve Maenesko. I like him, but I don't trust him enough not to potentially tell somebody important, even if he's not fond of the Defense Party.

>>4451667
>How are you handling the tanks?
If possible give them all over to good king Wladysaw. If he's not available, see if we can get them to the NLF some way. If that's not possible, scuttle them.

>Other things?
Do we have any RP left that we can chuck into fuel that we can send with wherever we send the tanks (or if we scuttle them, can send to Wladysaw/NLF)?

>>4451667
>How are you handling the tanks? Sabotaging them? Giving them to others? You can divide them up, if desired. You presently have the X-51, the X-52, the X-20, and a captured T-16.
Tell NLF exactly where they are stored and how to steal them.
>Are you finding/speaking with anybody in particular before you go? About what?
Release the 4th and 6th platoons to the Gendarmes, as >>4451732 proposes.
Also ask Metz about the his situation with Yva.
>How to finally permanently deal with this red headed short prisoner?
Deliver her to the border and let her be.

>>4451667
>How are you handling the tanks? Sabotaging them? Giving them to others? You can divide them up, if desired. You presently have the X-51, the X-52, the X-20, and a captured T-16.
If we could hand them over to Magnus or Wielzci that would be a nice parting gift from us.

>Are you finding/speaking with anybody in particular before you go? About what?
Inform Wielzci that we're fucking off, but don't mention why.
Check up with prostitute and son if we can, say goodbye.
Release the 4th and 6th platoons to the Gendarmes.
Send a thank you letter to Maenesko
Ask Metz about Yva. Meet with her if she's around.
Check to see one last time if we got our fucking letters!
And if we can maybe find Kelwin and aplogoize about everything. He really got fucked over and we didn't really help motivate him when he needed it most.

>How to finally permanently deal with this red headed short prisoner?
Throw her back where she came from. Not sure if we have our gold or cash with us, but giving her something for her troubles would be nice.
Also give her headpats for the road.

>>4451667
Actually tanq, speaking of the maddy picture, what is in our inventory right now? As in Richter's personal effects, not what is assigned to our command. I don't remember if we picked up any mementos, souvenirs or other odds and ends along the way here, but I feel like we have a few.

>>4451857
>Actually tanq, speaking of the maddy picture, what is in our inventory right now? As in Richter's personal effects, not what is assigned to our command.
His personal effects are relatively sparse, really. They mostly just consist of his weapons- the carbine, pistols, and things that are sort of the crew's utilities as a whole administratively owned by him, save for the pistol Signy gave him. He's also got his mask, his jacket- things he bought but didn't send off.

Tanks-
>>4451689
Leave them be.
>>4451728
>>4451799
Hand them off to Wielzci/NLF
>>4451732
Give them to Edelschwert.
>>4451811
Either or.

People-
>>4451689
Spoil your 4th platoon.
>>4451728
Call up a big meeting for a sendoff.
>>4451732
>>4451799
>>4451811
Release 4th and 6th platoons to the Gendarmes, talk with Wielzci about the future.
>>4451799
>>4451811
Ask your second in command about his witch.
>>4451811
Belay telling Wielzci the specifics.
Book an appointment with the masseuse.
Maenesko letter than your mailbox, even if it's probably empty.
Try to find Kelwin.

Shortie-
>>4451732
Dump her in a gutter.
>>4451728
>>4451743
>>4451799
>>4451811
Drop it off by the border.

Going to get writing then! This is a lot, of course, but it is finally getting out of this country.

>>4453757
Forgot to mention, as well, trying to use all that remaining RP to seize as much fuel as you can. That's a rather important note.

>>4453757
Not sure if it'll make a difference or not but you missed my vote (>>4451743) for tanks (give to king/give to NLF/scuttle)

>>4453762
Yeah, noted it, though that's about how it looks like it's going.

First order of business was the tanks, as well as the trucks, the combat cars, the fuel to move all of your mechanized assets- as much of which was procured as possible to promptly give away. What was Netilland going to do, reprimand you after you left? You were already in the midst of a suspended trial for treason, or whatever the exact terminology for the nonsensical thing had been pinned on you was, they should have looked into your character if they wanted to complain.

Wladysaw had already claimed he would be ready to pick them up from you once you left, and the only decision you were unsure of was which person you knew personally to gift these tanks to. There was the High Protector, Edelschwert, but also Wielzci, who had already been trusted with at least one tank plenty of times in the past. Though you did have a plan to satisfy both the King as well as his equally anti-northern allies- once you assembled the company leaders for a meeting, that was.

One last time, every platoon leader was gathered in the meeting hall, which had progressed to an entrenched tent now rather than a more temporary structure or a borrowed space. The Netillian officers you’d come here (officially) to train had much more bite than they once did, though much of that was supervised rather than instilled. They were naturally belligerent sorts, or so you’d always heard. Wielzci was the same as he had ever been, but the new Ellowian leaders hadn’t had much time and experience to truly reach the level of proper soldiers. A pity, but at least they were organized and equipped.

“Gentlemen,” you said from the head of the tent, hands behind your back, “the Archduchy is calling us of Strossvald back home, away from our assignment here. We may be replaced, but whether or not you will have a replacement coordinator, our time together is coming to an end. I’ll be informing the High Protector that he has a couple of new units in the 4th and 6th to accept into his Gendarmes, and that should be the final decision I make around here.” It wasn’t your business to do anything concerning transference of units to the Gendarmes besides make a recommendation, but you were in a position that this would be guaranteed to be acted upon.

Rybak looked extremely pleased to apparently be ready for service so quickly, though Wielzci was utterly nonplussed. He couldn’t be blamed for not being outwardly excited.

The Netillian officers looked terribly uncertain about all of this, however. “…Not gonna get used to half the unit just up and leaving,” Kristoph muttered.
“Who will be in charge after you?” Abetz asked, “Will they bring tanks? I think I liked having those along for the ride.”